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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Chap. Copyright JS T o. 

Shelf „ii„£o0^r 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



I 



SCOTT'S POEMS 
Cabinet <U3)itton 



THE COMPLETE POETICAL 
WORKS OF 

SIR WALTER SCOTT 
Cabinet CDttion 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

($be ftifcersibe press, Camfcri&ae 

MDCCCC 



t 



86215 



24371 



JUL 2< 19, 



JUL 25 1900 



COPYRIGHT, 1900 
BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE 

^HEy^VRoifc edited The Poetical Works of Sir Walter 
Scotit, ^Baronet, in 1877, he made a critical examination of the 
several texts, with the result of discovering many errors and 
inconsistencies in the current editions. His own text may be 
taken as the most accurate and trustworthy of any extant ; 
and it has been used as the basis of both the Cambridge and 
Cabinet editions of Scott's Poems. But in preparing the 
Cambridge edition the editor thought best to include the 
poems which Dr. Rolfe had omitted, and also to follow an 
order of arrangement wiiich was quite strictly chronological. 
This Cabinet edition is thus a reproduction of the text of the 
Cambridge edition, and with that may be regarded as the only 
really complete edition of Scott's poems contained in a single 
volume. By using a clear though small type, and studying 
the proportions of the page and the quality of the paper, it has 
been possible to bring the entire contents within the scope of 
a small handy volume. 

Boston, Spring, 1900. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



TWO BALLADS FROM THE 
GERMAN OF BURGER. 
William and Helen, imi- 
tated FROM THE 'LENORE' 

op Burgee 

The Wild Huntsman, imi- 
tated from Burger's 
4 Wilde Jager ' 

EARLY BALLADS AND LYR- 
ICS. 

The Violet 

To a Lady with Flowers 
prom a Roman Wall . . 

The Erl-King, from the Ger- 
man op Goethe .... 

War Song of the Royal 
Edinburgh Light Dragoons 

Song from ' Goetz yon Ber- 
lichingen ' 

Songs prom 'The House of 
Aspen.' 

I. 'Joy to the victors, 

THE SONS OF OLD As- 
pen' 

II. ' Sweet shone the sun 

ON THE PAIR LAKE OF 
TORO' 

III. Rhein - Wein Ldzd 
(' What makes the 
troopers' frozen cour 



AGE MUSTER?') 



Glenpinlas, or Lord Ro- 
nald's Coronach .... 13 
The Eve of St. John ... 18 
The Gray Brother .... 21 

The Fire-King 23 

Bothwell Castle .... 27 

The Shepherd's Tale ... 27 

Cheviot 30 

Frederick and Alice ... 31 
Cadyow Castle, addressed to 
the Right Honorable Lady 

Anne Hamilton .... 32 



10 



11 



11 



12 



12 



The Reiver's Wedding . . 36 

Christie's Will 38 

Thomas the Rhymer . . . #0 
The Bard's Incantation, 
written under the threat 
of Invasion in the Autumn 

of 1804 46 

Hellvellyn 47 

THE LAY OF THE LAST MIN- 
STREL. 

Introduction 48 

Canto FmsT 50 

Canto Second 56 

Canto Third 64 

Canto Fourth 71 

Canto Fifth 82 

Canto Sixth 91 

MARMION : A TALE OF FLOD- 

DEX FIELD. 

Introduction to Canto First 101 
Canto First : The Castle . 107 
Introduction to Canto Sec- 
ond 115 

Canto Second : The Convent 119 
Introduction to Canto Third 129 
Canto Thhid : The Hostel, or 

Inn 133 

Introduction to Canto 

Fourth 143 

Canto Fourth: The Camp . 147 
Introduction to Canto Fifth 157 
Canto Fd?th : The Court . 160 
Introduction to Canto Sixth 176 
Canto Sixth : The Battle . 180 
L'Envoy 198 

THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

Canto First: The Chase . 199 
Canto Second : The Island . 212 
Canto Third : The Gather- 
ing 226 

Canto Fourth: The Prophecy 239 



Vlll 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Canto Fifth: The Combat . 252 
Canto Sixth: The Guabd- 
Room 267 

THE VISION OF DON RODER- 
ICK. 

Introduction 283 

The Vision op Don Roderick 286 
Conclusion 298 

ROKEBY. 

• Canto First 302 

Canto Second 315 

Canto Third ...... 327 

Canto Fourth 339 

Canto Fifth 352 

Canto Sixth 368 

THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN ; 
OR, THE VALE OF SAINT 
JOHN. 

Introduction 384 

Canto First 386 

Canto Second 393 

Introduction to Canto Third 405 

Canto Third 406 

Conclusion 420 

THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 

Canto FrasT 421 

Canto Second 432 

Canto Third 442 

Canto Fourth 454 

Canto Fifth 466 

Canto Sixth 480 

Conclusion 495 

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 496 
Conclusion ....... 504 

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

Introduction 506 

Canto First 507 

Canto Second 514 

Canto Third 520 

Canto Fourth . . . . . 526 

Canto Fifth 532 

Canto Sixth 538 

Conclusion 545 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The Dying Bard 546 

The Norman Horse-Shoe . . 546 
The Maid of Toro .... 547 



The Palmer 547 

The Maid of Neidpath . . 548 
Wandering Willie .... 548 
Health to Lord Melville . 549 

Hunting Song 551 

Song : k O, say not, my Love ' 551 
The Resolve (in imitation of 

an old English Poem) . . 552 
Epitaph designed for a Mon- 
ument in Litchfield Cathe- 
dral, at the Burial-Place 
of the Family of Miss Sew- 
ard 552 

Prologue to Miss Baillie's 
Play of 'The Family Le- 
gend ' 553 

The Poacher (written in imi- 
tation of Crabbe) . . . 553 
The Bold Dragoon; or, The 

Plain of Badajos . . .557 
On the Massacre of Glencoe 557 
Song for the Anniversary 
Meeting of the Pitt Club 

of Scotland 558 

Lines addressed to Ranald 
Macdonald, Esq., of Staffa 559 

Pharos Loquitur 560 

Letters in Verse on the Voy- 
age with the Commissioners 
of Northern Lights. 
To His Grace the Duke 
of Buccleuch .... 560 

-Postscriptum 562 

Songs and Verses from Wa- 

VERLEY. 

I. ' And did ye not hear of 

A MIRTH BEFELL ' . . . . 563 

II. ' Late when the autumn 

EVENING FELL ' . . . . 564 

III. ■ The Knight 's to the 
mountain' 564 

IV. ' It 's up Glembarchan's 

BRAES I GAED ' . . . . 564 

V. ' Hie away, hie away ' . 565 

VI. St. Swithin's Chair . 565 

VII. ' Young men will love 
thee more fair and more 
fast ' 566 

VIII. Flora MacIvor's 
Song 566 

IX. To an Oak Tree . .567 

X. ' We are bound to drive 
the bullocks' .... 568 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



IX 



XI. k But follow, follow me ' 


568 


Song from Rob Roy — To the 




For a' That an' a' That . . 


568 


Memory of Edward the 




Farewell to Mackenzie, High 




Black Prince 


591 


Chief of Kintail 


569 


The Monks of Bangor's March 592 


Imitation of the Preceding 




Epilogue to the Appeal . . 


593 


Song 


570 


Mackrimmon's Lament . . . 


593 


War-Song of Lachlan, High 




Donald Caird's Come Again . 


594 


Chief of Maclean . . . . 


570 


Madge Wildfire's Songs from 




Saint Cloud 


571 


The Heart of Midlothian . 


595 


The Dance of Death ... 


571 


The Battle of Sempach. . . 


596 


Romance of Dunois . . . . 


574 


The Noble Moringer .... 


599 


The Troubadour 


574 


Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine . . 


603 


From the French . . . . 


575 


Songs from The Bride of Lam- 




Song on the Lifting of the 




mermoor. 




Banner of the House of 




I . ' Look not thou on beau- 




BUCCLEUCH AT A GREAT FOOT- 




ty's charming' .... 


603 


BALL Match on Carter- 




II. 'The monk must arise 




HAUGH 


575 


WHEN THE MATINS RING' . 


603 


Songs from Guy Mannering. 




III. * When the last lalrd 




I. 'Canny moment, lucky 




of Ravenswood to Ra- 




FIT ' 


576 


VENSWOOD SHALL RIDE ' . 


604 


II. * Twist ye, twine ye ! even 




Songs from The Legend of 




so ' 


576 


Montrose. 
I. Ancient Gaelic Melody 




III. ' Wasted, weary, where- 


604 


fore stay' 


576 


II. The Orphan Maid . . 


604 


IV ' Dark shall be light ' . 


577 


Verses from Ivanhoe. 




Lullaby of an Infant Chdhf . 


577 


1. The Crusader's Return . 


605 


The Return to Ulster . . . 


577 


II. The Barefooted Friar . 


606 


Jock of Hazeldean . . . . , 


578 


III. ' Norman saw on English 




Pibroch of Donald Dhu. . . 


578 


oak' 


606 


Nora's Vow 


579 


IV. War Song 


607 


MacGregor's Gathering . . 


579 


V. Rebecca's Hymn .... 


608 


Verses sung at the Dinner 




VI. The Black Knight and 




GIVEN TO THE GRAND DUKE 




Wamba 


608 


Nicholas of Russia and his 




VII. Another Carol by the 




Suite, 19th December, 1816 . 


580 


Same 


609 


Verses from The Antiquary. 




VIII. Funeral Hymn . . . 


610 


I. ' He came, but valor had 




Verses from The Monastery. 




so fired his eye' . . . . 


581 


I. Answer to Introductory 




n. ' Why sit' st thou by that 




Epistle ....... 


609 


RUINED HALL' 


581 


II. Border Song ..... 


610 


III. Epitaph . . . . . 


581 


Ill Songs of the White Lady 




IV. ' The herring loves the 




of Avenel 


610 


MERRY MOON-LIGHT' . . . 


581 


IV. To the Sub-Prior . . . 


611 


The Search after Happiness ; 




V. Halbert's Incantation . 


612 


or, The Quest of Sultaun 




VI. To Halbert . . . , . 


612 


Solimaun 


582 


VII. To the Same . . 


613 


Lines written for Miss Smith . 


589 


VIII. To the Same .... 


615 


Mr. Kemble's Farewell Ad- 




IX. To Mary Avenel , , . 


615 


dress ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE 




X. To Edward Glendinn- 




Edinburgh Stage . . . . 


590 


ING 


616 


The Sun upon the Wetrdlaw 


XI. The White Lady's Fare- 




Hill . . 


591 


well _ . . 


616 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Goldthred's Song prom Kenil- 

worth 616 

Verses from The Pirate. 

I. The Song op the Tempest . 617 

II. Halcro's Song . . . .618 

III. Song op Harold Har- 

FAGER 619 

IV. Song op the Mermaids 
and Mermen 619 

V. Norna's Verses .... 620 

VI. Halcro and Norna . . 621 

VII. The Fishermen's Song . 623 

VIII. Cleveland's Songs . . 623 

IX. Halcro's Verses . . . 624 

X. Norna's Incantation . . 625 

XI. The Same at the Meet- 
ing with Minna .... 625 

XII. Bryce Snailspoot's Ad- 
vertisement 627 

' On Ettrick Forest's Moun- 
tains Dun' 627 

The Maid op Isla 627 

Farewell to the Muse . . . 628 
Nigel's Initiation at White- 
friars, prom 'The Fortunes 

op Nigel' 628 

' Carle, now the King 's come ' 629 
The Bannatyne Club. . . . 632 

County Guy 633 

Epilogue to the Drama founded 
on ' Saint Ronan's Well ' . 633 

Epilogue . 635 

Verses from Redgauntlet. 

I. A Catch op Cowley's Al- 
tered 635 

II. ' As Lords their laborers' 
hire delay ' 636 

Lines addressed to Monsieur 
Alexandre, the celebrated 
ventriloquist 636 

To J. G. Lockhart, Esq., on the 
Composition of Maida's Epi- 
taph ..... .... 636 

Songs from The Betrothed. 

I. * Soldier, wake! '. . . . 637 

II. Woman's Faith . . . .638 

III. ' I ASKED OP MY HARP ' . 638 

IV. 'Widowed wipe and 
wedded maid ' 639 

Verses prom The Talisman. 

I. 'Dark Ahriman, whom 
Irak still ' 639 

II. ' What brave chief shall 

HEAD THE FORCES ' . . . . 640 



III. The Bloody Vest . . . 640 
Verses from Woodstock. 

I. ' By pathless march, by 

GREENWOOD TREE' .... 642 

II. Glee for King Charles . 643 

III. ' An hour with thee ' . 643 

IV. 'Son of a witch' . . . 643 
Lines to Sir Cuthbert Sharp . 643 
Verses from Chronicles of the 

Canon-Gate. 

I. Old Song from 'The 
Highland Widow ' . . . 644 

II. The Lay of Poor Louise, 
from ' The Fair Maid of 
Perth ' 644 

III. Death Chant . . . 645 

IV. Song of the Glee- 
Maiden 645 

The Death of Keeldar . . . 645 
The Secret Tribunal, from 

* Anne of Geierstein ' . . .647 
The Foray . . . ... .647 

Inscription por the Monument 

op the Rev. George Scott . 648 
Songs from The Doom of De- 

vorgodl. 

I. ' The Sun upon the Lake ' 648 

II. 'We love the shrill 
trumpet' 648 

III. ' Admire not that I 
gained ' 649 

IV. ' When the tempest ' . 649 

V. Bonny Dundee . . . 649 

VI. ' When friends are 
met ' ........ . 651 

'Hither we come' 651 

Lines on Fortune 651 

APPENDIX. 

I. Juvenile Lines. 

From Virgdl 653 

On a Thunder-Storm . . 653 
On the Setting Sun . . 653 
II. Mottoes from the Novels. 

From The Antiquary . . 653 
From The Black Dwarf . 656 
From Old Mortality . . 656 
From Rob Roy . . . . 657 
From The Heart of Mid- 
lothian 658 

From The Bride of Lam- 

mermoor 658 

From The Legend of Mon- 
trose 659 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



XI 



From Ivanhoe .... 659 | 
From The Monastery . . 660 ! 
From The Abbot . . . . 663 j 
From Kenilworth . . . 665 
From The Pirate . . .667 
From The Fortunes op 

Nigel 668 

From Peveril of the Peak 672 
From Quentin Durward . 674 
From Saint Ronan's Well 675 
From The Betrothed . . 676 
From The Talisman . . 677 



From Woodstock . . . 678 
From Chronicles of the 

Canongate 670 

From The Fair Maid of 

Perth 680 

From Anne of Geierstein 680 
From Count Robert of 

Paris 682 

From Castle Dangerous . 684 

INDEX OF FIRST LINES . . 687 
INDEX OF TITLES .... 695 



TWO BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN 
OF BURGER 



WILLIAM AND HELEN 

IMITATED FROM THE ' LENORE ' 
OF BURGER 

From heavy dreams fair Helen 
rose, 

And eyed the dawning red : 
*. Alas, my love, thou tarriest long ! 

art thou false or dead? ' 

With gallant Frederick's princely 
power 

He sought the bold Crusade, 
But not a word from Judah's wars 

Told Helen how he sped. 

With Paynim and with Saracen 
At length a truce was made, 10 

And every knight returned to dry 
The tears his love had shed. 

Our gallant host was homeward 
bound 
With many a song of joy ; 
Green waved the laurel in each 
plume, 
The badge of victory. 

And old and young, and sire and 
son, 

To meet them crowd the way, 
With shouts and mirth and melody, 

The debt of love to pay. 20 

Full many a maid her true-love 
met, 
And sobbed in his embrace, 
And fluttering joy in tears and 
smiles . 
Arrayed full many a face. 



Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad, 
She sought the host in vain ; 

For none could tell her William's 
fate, 
If faithless or if slain. 

The martial band is past and gone ; 

She rends her raven hair, 30 
And in distraction's bitter mood 

She weeps with wild despair. 

1 0, rise, my child,' her mother said, 
4 Nor sorrow thus in vain ; 

A perjured lover's fleeting heart 
No tears recall again.' 

1 mother, what is gone is gone, 
What 's lost forever lorn : 

Death, death alone can comfort 
me; 
had I ne'er been born ! 40 

'0, break, my heart, O, break at 
once! 

Drink my life-blood, Despair ! 
No joy remains on earth for me, 

For me in heaven no share.' 

1 0, enter not in judgment, Lord ! ' 
The pious mother prays ; 

1 Impute not guilt to thy frail child ! 
She knows not what she says. 

1 0, say thy pater-noster, child ! 

O, turn to God and grace ! 50 
His will, that turned thy bliss to 
bale, 

Can change thy bale to bliss.' 

' mother, mother, what is bliss ? 
mother, what is bale ? 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER 



My William's love was heaven on 
earth, 
Without it earth is hell. 

'Why should I pray to ruthless 
Heaven, 

Since my loved William 's slain? 
I only prayed for William's sake, 

And all my prayers were vain.' 60 

* O, take the sacrament, my child, 

And check these tears that flow ; 
By resignation's humble prayer, 
O, hallowed be thy woe ! ' 

' No sacrament can quench this fire, 
Or slake this scorching pain ; 

No sacrament can bid the dead 
Arise and live again. 

' O, break, my heart, O, break at 

once! 

Be thou my god, Despair ! 70 

Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen 

on me, 

And vain each fruitless prayer.' 

* O, enter not in judgment, Lord, 

With thy frail child of clay ! 
She knows not what her tongue 
has spoke ; 
Impute it not, I pray ! 

* Forbear, my child, this desperate 

woe, 
And turn to God and grace ; 
Well can devotion's heavenly glow 
Convert thy bale to bliss.' 80 

4 O mother, mother, what is bliss ? 

O mother, what is bale ? 
Without my William what were 
heaven, 

Or with him what were hell ? ' 

Wild she arraigns the eternal 
doom, 
Upbraids each sacred power, 
Till, spent, she sought her silent 
room, 
All in the lonely tower. 



She beat her breast, she wrung her 
hands, 
Till sun and day were o'er, 90 
And through the glimmering lat- 
tice shone 
The twinkling of the star. 

Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge 
fell 

That o'er the moat was hung ; 
And, clatter ! clatter I on its boards 

The hoof of courser rung. 

The clank of echoing steel was 
heard 

As off the rider bounded ; 
And slowly on the winding stair 

A heavy footstep sounded. 100 

And hark! and hark! a knock— 
tap ! tap ! 
A rustling stifled noise ; — 
Door-latch and tinkling staples 
ring; — 
At length a whispering voice. 

* Awake, awake, arise, my love ! 

How, Helen, dost thou fare ? 
Wak'st thou, or sleep'st? laugh'st 
thou, or weep'st? 

Hast thought on me, my fair?' 

My love! my love! — so late by 
night ! — 
I waked, I wept for thee : 1 10 
Much have I borne since dawn of 
morn; 
Where, William, couldst thou 
be?' 

1 We saddle late — from Hungary 
I rode since darkness fell ; 

And to its bourne we both re- 
turn 
Before the matin-bell. , 

1 0,rest this night within my arms, 
And warm thee in their fold ! 

Chill howls through hawthorn bush 
the wind : — 
My love is deadly cold.' 120 



WILLIAM AND HELEN 



* Let the wind howl through haw- 

thorn bush ! 
This night we must away ; 
The steed is wight, the spur is 
bright ; 
I cannot stay till day. 

'Busk, busk, and boune! Thou 
mount'st behind 
Upon my black barb steed : 
O'er stock and stile, a hundred 
miles, 
We haste to bridal bed.' 

' To-night — to-night a hundred 
miles ! — 
O dearest William, stay ! 130 
The bell strikes twelve — dark, 
dismal hour ! 
O, wait, my love, till day ! ■ 

'Look here, look here — the moon 
shines clear — 

Full fast I ween we ride ; 
Mount and away ! for ere the day 

We reach our bridal bed. 

* The black barb snorts, the bridle 

rings ; 
Haste, busk, and boune, and seat 

thee! 
The feast is made, the chamber 

spread, 
The bridal guests await thee.' 140 

Strong love prevailed : she busks, 
she bounes, 
She mounts the barb behind, 
And round her darling William's 
waist 
Her lily arms she twined. 

And, hurry ! hurry ! off they rode, 
As fast as fast might be ; 

Spurned from the courser's thun- 
dering heels 
The flashing pebbles flee. 

And on the right and on the left, 
Ere they could snatch a view, 1 50 



Fast, fast each mountain, mead, 
and plain, 
And cot and castle flew. 

'Sit fast — dost fear?— The moon 
shines clear — 
Fleet goes my barb — keep hold ! 
Fear' st thou?'—' O no! ' she faintly 
said, 
' But why so stern and cold ? 

' What yonder rings ? what yonder 
sings? 
Why shrieks the owlet gray ? ■ 
"T is death-bells' clang, 't is fu- 
neral song, 
The body to the clay. 160 

' With song and clang at morrow's 
dawn 
Ye may inter the dead : 
To-night I ride with my young 
bride 
To deck our bridal bed. 

* Come with thy choir, thou coffined 
guest, 
To swell our nuptial song ! 
Come, priest, to bless our marriage 
feast ! 
Come all, come all along ! ' 

Ceased clang and song ; down sunk 
the bier ; 

The shrouded corpse arose : 170 
And hurry ! hurry ! all the train 

The thundering steed pursues. 

And forward! forward! on they 
go; 
High snorts the straining steed ; 
Thick pants the rider's laboring 
breath, 
As headlong on they speed. 

' William, why this savage haste ? 

And where thy bridal bed ? ' 
' 'T is distant far, low, damp, and 
chill, 

And narrow, trustless maid.' 180 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER 



1 No room f or me ? ' — ' Enough for 
both; — 
Speed, speed, my barb, thy 
course ! ' 
O'er thundering bridge, through 
boiling surge, 
He drove the furious horse. 

Tramp! tramp! along the land 
they rode, 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 
The scourge is wight, the spur is 
bright, 
The flashing pebbles flee. 

Fled past on right and left how fast 
Each forest, grove, and bower ! 

On right and left fled past how 
fast 191 

Each city, town, and tower ! 

'Dost fear? dost fear? The moon 
shines clear, 
Dost fear to ride with me ? — 
Hurrah! hurrah! the dead can 
ride ! ' — 
1 William, let them be ! — 

1 See there, see there ! What yonder 
swings 
And creaks mid whistling 
rain?'— 
*Gibbet and steel, the accursed 
wheel ; 
A murderer in his chain. — 200 

1 Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : 

To bridal bed we ride ; 
And thou shalt prance a fetter 
dance 

Before me and my bride.' 

And, hurry! hurry! clash, clash, 
clash ! 
The wasted form descends ; 
And fleet as wind through hazel 
bush 
The wild career attends. 

Tramp! tramp! along the land 
they rode, 209 

Splash .' splash ! along the sea ; 



The scourge is red, the spur drops 
blood, 
The flashing pebbles flee. 

How fled what moonshine faintly 

showed ! 

How fled what darkness hid ! 

How fled the earth beneath their 

feet, 

The heaven above their head ! 

' Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon 
shines clear, 
And well the dead can ride ; 
Dost faithful Helen fear for 
them? , — 219 

1 leave in peace the dead ! ' — 

' Barb ! Barb ! methinks I hear the 
cock; 
The sand will soon be run : 
Barb ! Barb ! I smell the morning 
air; 
The race is well-nigh done.' 

Tramp! tramp! along the land 
they rode, 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 
The scourge is red, the spur drops 
blood, 
The flashing pebbles flee. 

1 Hurrah ! hurrah ! well ride the 
dead; 

The bride, the bride is come ; 230 
And soon we reach the bridal bed, 

For, Helen, here 's my home.' 

Reluctant on its rusty hinge 

Revolved an iron door, 
And by the pale moon's setting 
beam 

Were seen a church and tower. 

With many a shriek and cry whiz 
round 

The birds of midnight scared ; 
And rustling like autumnal leaves, 

Unhallowed ghosts were heard. 

O'er many a tomb and tombstone 
pale 241 

He spurred the fiery horse, 



THE WILD HUNTSMAN 



Till sudden at an open grave 
He checked the wondrous course. 

The falling gauntlet quits the rein, 
Down drops the casque of steel, 

The cuirass leaves his shrinking 
side, 
The spur his gory heel. 

The eyes desert the naked skull, 
The mouldering flesh the bone, 

Till Helen's lily arms entwine 251 
A ghastly skeleton. 

The furious barb snorts fire and 
foam, 

And with a fearful bound 
Dissolves at once in empty air, 

And leaves her on the ground. 

Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, 

Pale spectres flit along, 
Wheel round the maid in dismal 
dance, 

And howl the funeral song ; 260 

'E'en when the heart's with an- 
guish cleft 

Revere the doom of Heaven, 
Her soul is from her body reft ; 

Her spirit be forgiven ! ' 



THE WILD HUNTSMAN 

IMITATED FROM BURGER'S 
'WILDE JAGER' 

The Wildgrave winds his bugle- 
horn, 
To horse, to horse ! halloo,halloo ! 
His fiery courser snuffs the morn, 
And thronging serfs their lord 
pursue. 

The eager pack from couples freed 
Dash through the bush, the brier, 
the brake ; 
While answering hound and horn 
and steed 
The mountain echoes startling 
wake. 



The beams of God's own hallowed 
day 
Had painted yonder spire with 
gold, 10 

And, calling sinful man to pray, 
Loud, long, and deep the bell had 
tolled ; 

But still the Wildgrave onward 
rides ; 
Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again ! 
When, spurring from opposing 
sides, 
Two stranger horsemen join the 
train. 

Who was each stranger, left and 

right, 

Well may I guess, but dare not 

tell; 

The right-hand steed was silver 

white, 19 

The left the swarthy hue of hell. 

The right-hand horseman, young 
and fair, 
His smile was like the morn of 
May ; 
The left from eye of tawny glare 
Shot midnight lightning's lurid 
ray. 

He waved his huntsman's cap on 
high, 
Cried, ' Welcome, welcome, noble 
lord! 
What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, 
To match the princely chase, 
afford ? ' 

'Cease thy loud bugle's clanging 
knell,' 
Cried the fair youth with silver 
voice; 30 

1 And for devotion's choral swell 
Exchange the rude unhallowed 
noise. 

; To-day the ill-omened chase for- 
bear, 
Yon bell yet summons to the 
fane; 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER 



To-day the Warning Spirit hear, 
To-morrow thou mayst mourn in 
vain/ 

'Away, and sweep the glades 
along ! ' 
The sable hunter hoarse replies ; 
' To muttering monks leave matin- 
song, 
And bells and books and mys- 
teries.' 40 

The Wildgrave spurred his ardent 
steed, 
And, launching forward with a 
bound, 
'Who, for thy drowsy priestlike 
rede, 
Would leave the jovial horn and 
hound ? 

1 Hence, if our manly sport offend ! 
With pious fools go chant and 
pray: — 
Well hast thou spoke, my dark- 
browed friend ; 
Halloo, halloo ! and hark away ! ' 

The Wildgrave spurred his courser 
light, 
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt 
and hill ; 50 

And on the left and on the right, 
Each stranger horseman fol- 
lowed still. 

Up springs from yonder tangled 
thorn 
A stag more white than moun- 
tain snow ; 
And louder rung the Wildgrave's 
horn, 
' Hark forward, forward ! holla, 
ho!' 

A heedless wretch has crossed the 

way; 

He gasps the thundering hoofs 

below ; — 

But live who can, or die who may, 

Still, 'Forward, forward!' on 

they go. 60 



See, where yon simple fences meet, 
A field with autumn's blessings 
crowned ; 
See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's 
feet, 
A husbandman with toil em- 
browned : 

' mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 
Spare the poor's pittance,' was 
his cry, 
' Earned by the sweat these brows 
have poured 
In scorching hour of fierce July.' 

Earnest the right-hand stranger 
pleads, 
The left still cheering to the 
prey ; 70 

The impetuous Earl no warning 
heeds, 
But furious holds the onward 
way. 

1 Away, thou hound so basely born, 
Or dread the scourge's echoing 
blow!' 
Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, 
' Hark forward, forward ! holla, 
ho!' 

So said, so done : — A single bound 

Clears the poor laborer's humble 

pale; 

Wild follows man and horse and 

hound, 

Like dark December's stormy 

gale. 80 

And man and horse, and hound 
and horn, 
Destructive sweep the field 
along ; 
While, joying o'er the wasted 
corn, 
Fell Famine marks the madden- 
ing throng. 

Again uproused the timorous prey 
Scours moss and moor, and holt 
and hill ; 



THE WILD HUNTSMAN 



Hard run, he feels his strength 
decay, 
And trusts for life his simple 
skill. 

Too dangerous solitude appeared ; 

He seeks the shelter of the 

crowd ; 90 

Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to 

shroud. 

O'er moss and moor, and holt and 
hill, 
His track the steady blood- 
hounds trace ; 
O'er moss and moor, unwearied 
still, 
The furious Earl pursues the 
chase. 

Full lowly did the herdsman 

fall: 

■ O spare, thou noble baron, spare 

These herds, a widow's little all ; 

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy 

care ! ' 100 

Earnest the right-hand stranger 
pleads, 
The left still cheering to the 
prey; 
The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds, 
But furious keeps the onward 
way. 

1 Unmannered dog ! To stop my 
sport 
Vain were thy cant and beggar 
whine, 
Though human spirits of thy sort 
Were tenants of these carrion 
kine ! ' 

Again he winds his bugle-horn, 
1 Hark forward, forward, holla, 

ho!' no 

And through the herd in ruthless 
scorn 
He cheers his furious hounds to 
go. 



In heaps the throttled victims fall; 
Down sinks their mangled herds- 
man near ; 
The murderous cries the stag ap- 
pall- 
Again he starts, new-nerved by 
fear. 

With blood besmeared and white 
with foam, 
While big the tears of anguish 
pour, 
He seeks amid the forest's gloom 
The humble hermit's hallowed 
bower. 120 

But man and horse, and horn and 
hound, 
Fast rattling on his traces go ; 
The sacred chapel rung around 
With, ' Hark away ! and, holla, 
ho!' 

All mild, amid the rout profane, 
The holy hermit poured his 
prayer ; 
4 Forbear with blood God's house 
to stain ; 
Revere His altar and forbear ! 

' The meanest brute has rights to 
plead, 
Which, wronged by cruelty or 
pride, 130 

Draw vengeance on the ruthless 
head: — 
Be warned at length and turn 
aside.' 

Still the fair horseman anxious 
pleads ; 
The black, w r ild whooping, points 
the prey : — 
Alas ! the Earl no warning heeds, 
But frantic keeps the forward 
way. 

' Holy or not, or right or wrong, 
Thy altar and its rites I spurn ; 

Xot sainted martyrs' sacred song, 

Not God himself shall make me 

turn ! ' 140 



8 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER 



He spurs his horse, he winds his 


4 Be chased forever through the 


horn, 


wood, 


'Hark forward, forward, holla, 


Forever roam the affrighted 


ho!' 


wild; 170 


But off, on whirlwind's pinions 


And let thy fate instruct the proud, 


borne, 


God's meanest creature is His 


The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 


child.' 


And horse and man, and horn and 


'T was hushed : — One flash of som- 


hound, 


bre glare 


And clamor of the chase, was 


With yellow tinged the forests 


gone; 


brown ; 


For hoofs and howls and bugle- 


Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling 


sound, 


hair, 


A deadly silence reigned alone. 


And horror chilled each nerve 




and bone. 


Wild gazed the affrighted Earl 




around ; 


Cold poured the sweat in freezing 


He strove in vain to wake his 


rill; 


horn, 150 


A rising wind began to sing, 


In vain to call ; for not a sound 


And louder, louder, louder still, 


Could from his anxious lips be 


Brought storm and tempest on 


borne. 


its wing. 180 


He listens for his trusty hounds, 


Earth heard the call ;— her entrails 


No distant baying reached his 


rend; 


ears; 


From yawning rifts, with many a 


His courser, rooted to the ground, 


yen, 


The quickening spur unmindful 


Mixed with sulphureous flames, 


bears. 


ascend 




The misbegotten dogs of hell. 


Still dark and darker frown the 




shades, 


What ghastly huntsman next arose 


Dark as the darkness of the 


Well may I guess, but dare not 


grave ; 


tell; 


And not a sound the still invades, 


His eye like midnight lightning 


Save what a di s tant torrent gave. 


glows, 




His steed the swarthy hue of 


High o'er the sinner's humbled 


hell. 


head 161 




At length the solemn silence 


The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and 


broke ; 


thorn 


And from a cloud of swarthy red 


With many a shriek of helpless 


The awful voice of thunder 


woe ; 190 


spoke. 


Behind him hound and horse and 
horn, 
And, ' Hark away, and holla, ho ! ' 


* Oppressor of creation fair ! 


Apostate Spirits' hardened tool ! 




Scorner of God! Scourge of the 


With wild despair's reverted eye, 


poor! 


Close, close behind, he marks the 


The measure of thy cup is full. 


throng, 



THE ERL-KING 



With bloody fangs and eager 
cry; 
In frantic fear he scours along. — 

Still, still shall last the dreadful 
chase 
Till time itself shall have an 
end; 
By day they scour earth's caverned 
space, 
At midnight's witching hour as- 
cend. 200 



This is the horn and hound and 
horse 
That 6ft the lated peasant hears ; 
Appalled he signs the frequent 
cross, 
When the wild din invades his 
ears. 

The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 
For human pride, for human woe, 

When at his midnight mass he 
hears 
The infernal cry of ' Holla, ho ! ' 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



THE VIOLET 

The violet in her greenwood 

bower, 

Where birchen boughs with ha- 

zels mingle, 

May boast itself the fairest flower 

In glen or copse or forest dingle. 

Though fair her gems of azure hue, 
Beneath the dewdrop's weight 
reclining, 
I 've seen an eye of lovelier blue, 
More sweet through watery lus- 
tre shining. 

The summer sun that dew shall 
dry 
Ere yet the day be past its mor- 
row, 
Nor longer in my false love's eye 
Remained the tear of parting 
sorrow. 



TO A LADY 

WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN 
WALL 

Take these flowers which, purple 
waving, 
On the ruined rampart grew, 



Where, the sons of freedom brav- 
ing, 
Rome's imperial standards flew. 

Warriors from the breach of dan- 
ger 
Pluck no longer laurels there ; 
They but yield the passing stranger 
Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's 
hair. 



THE ERL-KING 
FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE 

O, who rides by night thro' the 

woodland so wild ? 
It is the fond father embracing 

his child ; 
And close the boy nestles within 

his loved arm, 
To hold himself fast and to keep 

himself warm. 

1 father, see yonder ! see yonder ! ' 

he says ; 
'My boy, upon what dost thou 

fearfully gaze ? ' — 
'0, 'tis the Erl-King with his 

crown and his shroud.' — 
' No, my son, it is but a dark 

wreath of the cloud,' 



10 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



(The Erl-King speaks) 
*0, come and go with me, thou 

loveliest child ; 
By many a gay sport shall thy 

time be beguiled ; 
My mother keeps for thee full 

many a fair toy, 
And many a fine flower shall she 

pluck for my boy.' 

* O father, my father, and did you 

not hear 
The Erl-King whisper so low in 

my ear ? ' — 
4 Be still, my heart's darling — my 

child, be at ease ; 
It was but the wild blast as it 

sung thro' the trees.' 

Erl-King 
'O, wilt thou go with me, thou 

loveliest boy ? 
My daughter shall tend thee with 

care and with joy; 
She shall bear thee so lightly thro' 

wet and thro' wild, 
And press thee and kiss thee and 

sing to my child.' 

* O, father, my father, and saw you 

not plain, 
The Erl-King's pale daughter glide 
past through the rain?' — 

* O yes, my loved treasure, I knew 

it full soon ; 
It was the gray willow that danced 
to the moon.' 

Erl-King 

* O, come and go with me, no longer 

delay, 
Or else, silly child, I will drag thee 
away.' — 

* O father ! O father ! now, now 

keep your hold, 
The Erl-King has seized me — his 
grasp is so cold ! ' 

Sore trembled the father; he 
spurred thro' the wild, 



Clasping close to his bosom his 
shuddering child ; 

He reaches his dwelling in doubt 
and in dread, 

But, clasped to his bosom, the in- 
fant was dead ! 



WAK SONG OF THE ROYAL 
EDINBURGH LIGHT DRA- 
GOONS 

To horse ! to horse ! the standard 
flies, 

The bugles sound the call ; 
The Gallic navy stems the seas, 
The voice of battle 's on the breeze, 

Arouse ye, one and all ! 

From high Dunedin's towers we 
come, 
A band of brothers true ; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils 

surround, 
With Scotland's hardy thistle 
crown'd ; 
We boast the red and blue. 

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's 
frown 
Dull Holland's tardy train ; 
Their ravished toys though Ro- 
mans mourn ; 
Though gallant Switzers vainly 
spurn, 
And, foaming, gnaw the chain ; 

Oh ! had they marked the avenging 
call 
Their brethren's murder gave, 
Disunion ne'er their ranks had 

mown, 
Nor patriot valor, desperate grown 
Sought freedom in the grave ! 

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn 

head, 
In Freedom's temple born, 
Dress our pale cheek in timid 

smile, 



SONGS 



II 



To hail a master in our isle, 


Sa ! sa ! 


Or brook a victor's scorn? 


Ha! ha! 




Sa ! sa ! 


No! though destruction o'er the 


He seized the cage, the latch did 


land 


draw, 


Come pouring as a flood, 


Ha ! ha ! 


The sun, that sees our falling 


And in he thrust his knavish 


day, 


paw. 


Shall mark our sabres' deadly 


Sa ! sa ! 


sway, 


Ha ! ha ! 


And set that night in blood. 


Sa! sa! 




The bird dashed out, and gained 


For gold let Gallia's legions fight, 


the thorn, 


Or plunder's bloody gain ; 


Ha ! ha ! 


Unbribed, unbought, our swords 


And laughed the silly fool to scorn ! 


we draw, 


Sa! sa! 


To guard our king, to fence our 


Ha ! ha ! 


law, 


Sa ! sa ! 


Nor shall their edge be vain. 




If ever breath of British gale 


SONGS 


Shall fan the tri-color, 




Or footstep of invader rude, 


FROM ' THE HOUSE OF ASPEN ' 


With rapine foul, and red with 




blood, 


I 


Pollute our happy shore, — 






Joy to the victors, the sons of old 


Then farewell home ! and farewell 


Aspen ! 


friends ! 


Joy to the race of the battle and 


Adieu each tender tie ! 


scar! 


Resolved, we mingle in the tide, 


Glory's proud garland triumph- 


Where charging squadrons furi- 


antly grasping, 


ous ride, 


Generous in peace, and victorious 


To conquer or to die. 


in war. 




Honor acquiring, 


To horse! to horse! the sabres 


Valor inspiring, 


gleam ; 


Bursting, resistless, through foe- 


High sounds our bugle call ; 


men they go ; 


Combined by honor's sacred tie, 


War-axes wielding, 


Our word is Laws and Liberty ! 


Broken ranks yielding, 


March forward, one and all ! 


Till from the battle proud Rod- 




eric retiring, 


SONG 


Yields in wild rout the fair palm to 




his foe. 


FROM * GOETZ VON BERLICHIN- 




GEN ' 


Joy to each warrior, true follower 




of Aspen ! 


It was a little naughty page, 


Joy to the heroes that gained the 


Ha! ha! 


bold day ! 


Would catch a bird was closed in 


Health to our wounded, in agony 


cage. 


gasping ; 



12 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



Peace to our brethren that fell 
in the fray ! 
Boldly this morning, 
Roderic's power scorning, 
Well for their chieftain their 
blades did they wield ; 
Joy blest them dying, 
As Maltingen flying, 
Low laid his banners, our con- 
quest adorning, 
Their death-clouded eye-balls de- 
scried on the field ! 

Now to our home, the proud man- 
sion of Aspen, 
Bend we, gay victors, triumphant 
away. 
There each fond damsel, her gal- 
lant youth clasping, 
Shall wipe from his forehead the 
stains of the fray. 
Listening the prancing 
Of horses advancing ; 
E'en now on the turrets our 
maidens appear. 
Love our hearts warming, 
Songs the night charming, 
Round goes the grape in the gob- 
let gay dancing ; 
Love, wine, and song, our blithe 
evening shall cheer ! 



ii 



Sweet shone the sun on the fair 
lake of Toro, 
Weak were the whispers that 
waved the dark wood, 
As a fair maiden, bewildered in 
sorrow, 
Sighed to the breezes and wept 
to the flood.— 
' Saints, from the mansion of bliss 
lowly bending, 
Virgin, that hear'st the poor 
suppliant's cry, 
Grant my petition, in anguish as- 
cending, 
My Frederick restore, or let 
Eleanor die,' 



Distant and faint were the sounds 
of the battle ; 
With the breezes they rise, with 
the breezes they fail, 
Till the shout, and the groan, and 
the conflict's dread rattle, 
And the chase's wild clamor 
came loading the gale. 
Breathless she gazed through the 
woodland so dreary, 
Slowly approaching, a warrior 
was seen; 
Life's ebbing tide marked his foot- 
steps so weary, 
Cleft was his helmet, and woe 
was his mien. 

' Save thee, fair maid, for our 
armies are flying ; 
Save thee, fair maid, for thy 
guardian is low ; 
Cold on yon heath thy bold Fred- 
erick is lying, 
Fast through the woodland ap- 
proaches the foe.' 



in 

[rhein-wein lied] 

What makes the troopers' frozen 

courage muster? 

The grapes of juice divine. 

Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine 

they cluster : 

Oh, blessed be the Rhine ! 

Let fringe and furs, and many a 
rabbit skin, sirs, 
Bedeck your Saracen ; 
He '11 freeze without what warms 
our heart within, sirs, 
When the night-frost crusts 
the fen. 

But on the Rhine, but on the Rhine 

they cluster, 

The grapes of juice divine, 

That make our troopers' frozen 

courage muster : 

Oh, blessed be the Rhine ! 



GLENFINLAS 



T 3 



GLENFINLAS 

OR, LORD RONALD'S CORONACH 

For them the viewless forms of air obey, 
Their bidding heed, and at their beck 
repair ; 
They know what spirit brews the storm- 
ful day, 
And heartless oft, like moody madness 
stare, 
To see the phantom-train their secret 
work prepare. 

Collins. 

* O hone a rie' ! hone a rie' ! 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er, 
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest 
tree; 
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald 
more ! ' 

0, sprung from great Macgillia- 
nore, 
The chief that never feared a 
foe, 
How matchless was thy broad 
claymore, 
How deadly thine unerring bow ! 

Well can the Saxon widows tell 
How on the Teith's resounding 
shore 10 

The boldest Lowland warriors 
fell, 
As down from Lenny's pass you 
bore. 

But o'er his hills in festal day- 
How blazed Lord Ronald's 
beltane-tree, 
While youths and maids the light 
strathspey 
So nimbly danced with Highland 
glee! 

Cheered by the strength of Ronald's 

shell, 

E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 

But now the loud lament we swell, 

O, ne'er to see Lord Ronald 

more ! 20 



From distant isles a chieftain came 
The joys of Ronald's halls to 
find, 
And chase with him the dark-brown 
game 
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of 
wind. 

'Twas Moy; whom in Columba's 

isle 

The seer's prophetic spirit found, 

As, with a minstrel's fire the while, 

He waked his harp's harmonious 

sound. 

Full many a spell to him was 

known 

Which wandering spirits shrink 

to hear ; 30 

And many a lay of potent tone 

Was never meant for mortal ear. 

For there, 't is said, in mystic mood 
High converse with the dead 
they hold, 
And oft espy the fated shroud 
That shall the future corpse en- 
fold. 

0, so it fell that on a day, 
To rouse the red deer from their 
den, 
The chiefs have ta'en their distant 
way, 
And scoured the deep Glenfinlas 
glen. 40 

No vassals wait their sports to aid, 
To watch their safety, deck their 
board ; 
Their simple dress the Highland 
plaid, 
Their trusty guard the Highland 
sword. 

Three summer days through brake 
and dell 
Their whistling shafts success- 
ful flew ; 
And still when dewy evening fell 
The quarry to their hut they 
drew. 



14 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook 
The solitary cabin stood, 50 

Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, 
Which murmurs through that 
lonely wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was 
calm, 
When three successive days had 
flown: 
And summer mist in dewy balm 
Steeped heathy bank and mossy 
stone. 

The moon, half -hid in silvery 

flakes, 

Afar her dubious radiance shed, 

Quivering on Katrine's distant 

lakes, 59 

And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut in social guise 
Their sylvan fare the chiefs en- 
joy; 
And pleasure laughs in Ronald's 
eyes, 
As many a pledge he quaffs to 
Moy. 

1 What lack we here to crown our 
bliss, 
While thus the pulse of joy beats 
high? 
What but fair woman's yielding 
kiss, 
Her panting breath and melting 
eye? 

1 To chase the deer of yonder 

shades, 

This morning left their father's 

pile 70 

The fairest of our mountain maids, 

The daughters of the proud 

Glengyle. 

' Long have I sought sweet Mary's 
heart, 
And dropped the tear and heaved 
the sigh : 



But vain the lover's wily art 
Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 

1 But thou mayst teach that guard- 
ian fair, 
While far with Mary I am flown, 
Of other hearts to cease her care, 
And find it hard to guard her 
own. 80 

'Touch but thy harp, thou soon 
shalt see 
The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Unmindful of her charge and me, 
Hang on thy notes 'twixt tear 
and smile. 

' Or, if she choose a melting tale, 
All underneath the greenwood 
bough, 
Will good Saint Oran's rule prevail, 
Stern huntsman of the rigid 
brow?' 

' Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's 

death, 

No more on me shall rapture 

rise, '. 90 

Responsive to the panting breath, 

Or yielding kiss or melting eyes. 

1 E'en then, when o'er the heath of 
woe 
Where sunk my hopes of love 
and fame, 
I bade my harp's wild wailings 
flow, 
On me the Seer's sad spirit came. 

'The last dread curse of angry 
heaven, 
With ghastly sights and sounds 
of woe 
To dash each glimpse of joy was 
given— 99 

The gift the future ill to know. 

'The bark thou saw'st, yon sum- 
mer morn, 
So gayly part from Oban's bay, 



GLENFINLAS 



*5 



My eye beheld her dashed and 


'Or false or sooth thy words of 


torn 


woe, 


Far on the rocky Colonsay. 


Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall 




fear ; 130 


4 Thy Fergus too — thy sister's 


His blood shall bound at rapture's 


son, 


glow, 


Thou saw'st with pride the gal- 


Though doomed to stain the 


lant's power, 


Saxon spear. 


As marching 'gainst the Lord of 




Downe 


' E'en now, to meet me in yon dell, 


He left the skirts of huge Ben- 


My Mary's buskins brush the 


more. 


dew.' 




He spoke, nor bade the chief fare- 


'Thou only saw'st their tartans 


well, 


wave 


But called his dogs and gay 


As down Benvoirlich's side they 


withdrew. 


wound, no 




Heard' st but the pibroch answer- 


Within an hour returned each 


ing brave 


hound, 


To many a target clanking round. 


In rushed the rousers of the 




deer; 


' I heard the groans, I marked the 


They howled in melancholy sound, 


tears, 


Then closely couched beside the 


I saw the wound his bosom 


Seer. 140 


bore, 




When on the serried Saxon spears 


No Ronald yet, though midnight 


He poured his clan's resistless 


came, 


roar. 


And sad were Moy's prophetic 




dreams, 


* And thou, who bidst me think of 


As, bending o'er the dying flame, 


bliss, 


He fed the watch-fire's quiver- 


And bidst my heart awake to 


ing gleams. 


glee, 




And court like thee the wanton 


Sudden the hounds erect their ears, 


kiss- 


And sudden cease their moaning 


That heart, Ronald, bleeds for 


howl, 


thee! 120 


Close pressed to Moy, they mark 




their fears 


*I see the death-damps chill thy 


By shivering limbs and stifled 


brow; 


growl. 148 


I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; 




The corpse-lights dance — they 're 


Untouched the harp began to ring 


gone, and now — 


As softly, slowly, oped the door ; 


No more is given to gifted eye ! ■ 


And shook responsive every string 




As light a footstep pressed the 


1 Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 


floor. 


Sad prophet of the evil hour ! 




Say, should we scorn joy's tran- 


And by the watch-fire's glimmering 


sient beams 


light 


Because to-morrow's storm may 


Close by the minstrel's side was 


lour ? ' 


seen 



i6 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



An huntress maid, in beauty bright, 


' 0, aid me then to seek the pair, 


All dropping wet her robes of 


Whom, loitering in the woods, I 


green. 


lost; 




Alone I dare not venture there, 


All dropping wet her garments 


Where walks, they say, the 


seem; 


shrieking ghost.' 


Chilled was her cheek, her 




bosom bare, 


* Yes,manya shrieking ghost walks 


As, bending o'er the dying gleam, 


there ; 


She wrung the moisture from her 


Then first, my own sad vow to 


hair. 160 


keep, 




Here will I pour my midnight 


With maiden blush she softly said, 


prayer, 


4 gentle huntsman, hast thou 


Which still must rise when mor- 


seen, 


tals sleep.' 


In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight 




glade, 


4 0, first, for pity's gentle sake, 


A lovely maid in vest of green : 


Guide a lone wanderer on her 




way ! 190 


'With her a chief in Highland 


For I must cross the haunted 


pride ; 


brake, 


His shoulders bear the hunter's 


And reach my father's towers 


bow, 


ere day.' 


The mountain dirk adorns his 




side, 


'First, three times tell each Ave- 


Far on the wind his tartans 


bead, 


flow?' — 


And thrice a Pater-noster say ; 




Then kiss with me the holy rede ; 


'And who art thou? and who are 


So shall we safely wend our 


they?' 169 


way.' 


All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 




'And why, beneath the moon's 


1 0, shame to knighthood, strange 


pale ray, 


and foul ! 


Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' 


Go, doff the bonnet from thy 


side ? ' 


brow, 




And shroud thee in the monkish 


* Where wild Loch Katrine pours 


cowl, 199 


her tide, 


Which best befits thy sullen vow. 


Blue, dark, and deep, round 




many an isle, 


1 Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, 


Our father's towers o'erhang her 


Thy heart was froze to love and 


side, 


joy, 


The castle of the bold Glen- 


When gayly rung thy raptured lyre 


gyle. 


To wanton Morna's melting eye.' 


4 To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer 


Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of 


Our woodland course this morn 


flame 


we bore, 


And high his sable locks arose. 


And haply met while wandering 


And quick his color went and came 


here 179 


As fear and rage alternate 


The son of great Macgillianore. 


rose. 



GLENFINLAS 



4 And thou! when by the blazing 


High o'er the minstrel's head they 


oak 209 


sail 


I lay, to her and love resigned, 


And die amid the northern skies. 


Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke, 




Or sailed ye on the midnight 


The voice of thunder shook the 


wind? 


wood, 




As ceased the more than mortal 


1 Not thine a race of mortal blood, 


yell; 


Nor old Glengyle's pretended 


And spattering foul a shower of 


line; 


blood 239 


Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood — 


Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 


Thy sire, the Monarch of the 




Mine.' 


Next dropped from high a mangled 
arm; 
The fingers strained an half- 


He muttered thrice Saint Oran's 


rhyme, 


drawn blade : 


And thrice Saint Fillan's power- 


And last, the life-blood streaming 


ful prayer ; 


warm, 


Then turned him to the eastern 


Torn from the trunk, a gasping 


clime, 


head. 


And sternly shook his coal-black 




hair. 220 


Oft o'er that head in battling 




field 


And, bending o'er his harp, he 


Streamed the proud crest of high 


flung 


Benmore ; 


His wildest witch-notes on the 


That arm the broad claymore could 


wind: 


wield 


And loud and high and strange 


Which dyed the Teith with Saxon 


they rung, 


gore. 


As many a magic change they 




find. 


Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! 249 




Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! 


Tall waxed the Spirit's altering 


There never son of Albin's hills 


form, 


Shall draw the hunter's shaft 


Till to the roof her stature grew ; 


agen! 


Then, mingling with the rising 




storm, 


E'en the tired pilgrim's burning 


With one wild yell away she flew. 


feet 




At noon shall shun that shelter- 


Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds 


ing den, 


tear : 


Lest, journeying in their rage, he 


The slender hut in fragments 


meet 


flew; 230 


The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 


But not a lock of Moy's loose hair 




Was waved by wind or wet by 


And we — behind the chieftain's 


dew. 


shield 




No more shall we in safety dwell ; 


Wild mingling with the how r ling 


None leads the people to the 


gale, 


field — 


Loud bursts of ghastly laughter 


And we the loud lament must 


rise ; 


swell. 260 



i8 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er ! 
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest 
tree ; 
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald 
more ! 



THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN 

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose 
with day, 
He spurred his courser on, 
Without stop or stay, down the 
rocky way, 
That leads to Brotherstone. 

He went not with the hold Buc- 
cleuch 
His banner broad to rear ; 
He went not 'gainst the English 
yew 
To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yet his plate-jack was braced and 

his helmet was laced, 

And his vaunt-brace of proof he 

wore ; 10 

At his saddle-gerthe was a good 

steel sperthe, 

Full ten pound weight and more. 

The baron returned in three days' 
space, 

And his looks were sad and sour ; 
And weary was his courser's pace 

As he reached his rocky tower. 

He came not from where Ancram 
Moor 
Ran red with English blood ; 
Where the Douglas true and the 
bold Buccleuch 19 

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 

Yet was his helmet hacked and 
hewed, 
His acton pierced and tore, 
His axe and his dagger with blood 
imbrued, — 
But it was not English gore. 



He lighted at the Chapellage, 
He held him close and still ; 

And he whistled thrice for his little 
foot-page, 
His name was English Will. 

' Come thou hither, my little foot- 
page, 
Come hither to my knee ; 30 

Though thou art young and tender 
of age, 
I think thou art true to me. 

' Come, tell me all that thou hast 
seen, 
And look thou tell me true ! 
Since I from Smaylho'me tower 
have been, 
What did thy lady do ? » 

' My lady, each night, sought the 
lonely light 
That burns on the wild W T atch- 
fold; 
For from height to height the bea- 
cons bright 
Of the English f oemen told. 40 

' The bittern clamored from the 
moss, 
The wind blew loud and shrill ; 
Yet the craggy pathway she did 
cross 
To the eiry Beacon Hill. 

* I watched her steps, and silent 
came 
Where she sat her on a stone ; — 
No watchman stood by the dreary 
flame, 
It burned all alone. 

' The second night I kept her in 
sight 
Till to the fire she came, 50 

And, by Mary's might ! an armed 
knight 
Stood by the lonely flame. 

4 And many a word that warlike 
lord 
Did speak to my lady there ; 



THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN 



19 



But tbe rain fell fast and loud blew 
the blast, 
And 1 heard not what they were. 

4 The third night there the sky was 
fair, 

And the mountain-blast was still, 
As again I watched the secret pair 

On the lonesome Beacon Hill. 60 

'And I heard her name the mid- 
night hour, 
And name this holy eve ; 
And say, " Come this night to thy 
lady's bower ; 
Ask no bold baron's leave. 

1 " He lifts his spear with the bold 
Buccleuch ; 
His lady is all alone ; 
The door she '11 undo to her knight 
so true 
On the eve of good Saint John." 

4 " I cannot come ; I must not come ; 

I dare not come to thee ; 70 

On the eve of Saint John I must 
wander alone : 

In thy bower I may not be." 

' " Now, out on thee, fainthearted 
knight ! 
Thou shouldst not say me nay ; 
For the eve is sweet, and when 
lovers meet 
Is worth the whole summer's 
day. 

' " And I '11 chain the blood-hound, 
and the warder shall not 
sound, 
And rushes shall be strewed on 
the stair ; 
So, by the black rood-stone and by 
holy Saint John, 
I conjure thee, my love, to be 
there ! " 80 

*" Though the blood -hound be 
mute and the rush beneath 
my foot, 
And the warder his bugle should 
not blow, 



Yet there sleepeth a priest in the 
chamber to the east, 
And my footstep he would 
know." 

1 " O, fear not the priest who sleep- 
eth to the east, 
For to Dryburgh the way he has 
ta'en ; 
And there to say mass, till three 
days do pass, 
For the soul of a knight that is 
slayne." 

' He turned him around and grimly 
he frowned ; 
Then he laughed right scorn- 
fully — 90 
" He who says the mass-rite for 
the soul of that knight 
May as well say mass for me : 

1 "At the lone midnight hour when 
bad spirits have power 
In thy chamber will I be." — 
With that he w r as gone and my 
lady left alone, 
And no more did I see.' 

Then changed, I trow, was that 
bold baron's brow 
From the dark to the blood-red 
high; 
' Now, tell me the mien of the 
knight thou hast seen, 
For, by Mary, he shall die ! ' 100 

' His arms shone full bright in the 
beacon's red light ; 
His plume it was scarlet and 
blue ; 
On his shield was a hound in a 
silver leash bound, 
And his crest was a branch of 
the yew.' 

1 Thou liest, thou liest, thou little 
foot-page, 
Loud dost thou lie to me ! 
For that knight is cold and low 
laid in the mould, 
All under the Eildon-tree.' 



20 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



' Yet hear but my word, my noble 
lord ! 
For I heard her name his 
name; no 

And that lady bright, she called 
the knight 
Sir Richard of Coldinghame.' 

The bold baron's brow then 
changed, I trow, 
From high blood-red to pale — 
4 The grave is deep and dark — 
and the corpse is stiff and 
stark — 
So I may not trust thy tale. 

* Where fair Tweed flows round 

holy Melrose, 

And Eildon slopes to the plain, 
Full three nights ago by some se- 
cret foe 

That gay gallant was slain. 120 

' The varying light deceived thy 
sight, 
And the wild winds drowned the 
name; 
For the Dryburgh bells ring and 
the white monks do sing 
For Sir Richard of Colding- 
hame !' 

He passed the court-gate and he 
oped the tower-gate, 
And he mounted the narrow 
stair 
To the bartizan-seat where, with 
maids that on her wait, 
He found his lady fair. 

That lady sat in mournful mood ; 

Looked over hill and vale ; 130 
Over Tweed's fair flood and Mer- 
toun's wood, 

And all down Teviotdale. 

• Now hail, now hail, thou lady 

bright !' 
4 Now hail, thou baron true ! 



What news, what news, from An- 
cram fight ? 
What news from the bold Buc- 
cleuch?' 

'The Ancram moor is red with 
gore, 
For many a Southern fell ; 
And Buccleuch has charged us 
evermore 
To watch our beacons well.' 140 

The lady blushed red, but nothing 
she said : 
Nor added the baron a word : 
Then she stepped down the stair 
to her chamber fair, 
And so did her moody lord. 

In sleep the lady mourned, and the 
baron tossed and turned, 
And oft to himself he said, — 
' The worms around him creep, and 
his bloody grave is deep — 
It cannot give up the dead ! ' 

It was near the ringing of matin- 
bell, 
The night was well-nigh done, 150 
When a heavy sleep on that baron 
fell, 
On the eve of good Saint John. 

The lady looked through the 
chamber fair 
By the light of a dying flame ; 
And she was aware of a knight 
stood there — 
Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 

' Alas ! away, away ! ' she cried, 
' For the holy Virgin's sake ! ' 

' Lady, I know who sleeps by thy 
side; 
But, lady, he will not awake. 160 

' By Eildon - tree for long nights 
three 
In bloody grave have I lain ; 



THE GRAY BROTHER 



21 



The mass and the death-prayer 
are said for me, 
But, lady, they are said in vain. 

'By the baron's brand, near 
Tweed's fair strand, 
Most foully slain I fell ; 
And my restless sprite on the bea- 
con's height 
For a space is doomed to dwell. 

1 At our trysting - place, for a cer- 
tain space, 
I must wander to and fro ; 170 
But I had not had power to come 
to thy bower 
Hadst thou not conjured me so.' 

Love mastered fear — her brow 
she crossed ; 
4 How, Richard, hast thou sped ? 
And art thou saved or art thou 
lost?' 
The vision shook his head ! 

4 Who spilleth life shall forfeit life ; 

So bid thy lord believe : 
That lawless love is guilt above, 



This awful sign receive.' 



[80 



He laid his left palm on an oaken 
beam, 

His right upon her hand ; 
The lady shrunk and fainting sunk, 

For it scorched like a fiery brand. 

The sable score of fingers four 
Remains on that board im- 
pressed ; 

And f orevermore that lady wore 
A covering on her wrist. 

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower 
Ne'er looks upon the sun ; 190 

There is a monk in Melrose tower 
He speaketh word to none. 

That nun who ne'er beholds the 
day, 
That monk who speaks to 
none — 



That nun was Smaylho'me's lady 
gay, 
That monk the bold baron. 



THE GRAY BROTHER 

The Pope he was saying the high, 
high mass 
All on Saint Peter's day, 
With the power to him given by 
the saints in heaven 
To wash men's sins away. 

The Pope he was saying the 
blessed mass, 
And the people kneeled around, 
And from each man's soul his sins 
did pass, 
As he kissed the holy ground. 

And all among the crowded throng 

Was still, both limb and 

tongue, 10 

While through vaulted roof and 

aisles aloof 

The holy accents rung. 

At the holiest word he quivered 
for fear, 
And faltered in the sound — 
And when he would the chalice 
rear 
He dropped it to the ground. 

4 The breath of one of evil deed 
Pollutes our sacred day ; 

He has no portion in our creed, 
No part in what I say. 20 

4 A being whom no blessed word 
To ghostly peace can bring, 

A wretch at whose approach ab- 
horred 
Recoils each holy thing. 

4 Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise ! 

My adjuration fear ! 
I charge thee not to stop my 
voice, 

Nor longer tarry here ! ' 



22 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



Amid them all a pilgrim kneeled 
In gown of sackcloth gray ; 30 

Far journeying from his native 
field, 
He first saw Rome that day. 

For forty days and nights so drear 
I ween he had not spoke, 

And, save with bread and water 
clear, 
His fast he ne'er had broke. 

Amid the penitential flock, 
Seemed none more bent to pray ; 

But when the Holy Father spoke 
He rose and went his way. 40 

Again unto his native land 
His weary course he drew, 

To Lothian's fair and fertile 
strand, 
And Pentland's mountains blue. 

His unblest feet his native seat 
Mid Eske's fair woods regain ; 

Through woods more fair no 
stream more sweet 
Rolls to the eastern main. 

And lords to meet the pilgrim 
came, 
And vassals bent the knee ; 50 
For all mid Scotland's chiefs of 
fame 
Was none more famed than he. 

And boldly for his country still 

In battle he had stood, 
Ay, even when on the banks of Till 

Her noblest poured their blood. 

Sweet are the paths, O passing 

sweet ! 

By Eske's fair streams that run, 

O'er airy steep through copsewood 

deep, 

Impervious to the sun. 60 

There the rapt poet's step may 
rove, 
And yield the muse the day ; 



There Beauty, led by timid Love, 
May shun the telltale ray ; 

From that fair dome where suit is 
paid 

By blast of bugle free, 
To Auchendinny's hazel glade 

And haunted Woodhouselee. 

Who knows not Melville's beechy 
grove 
And Roslin's rocky glen, 70 

Dalkeith, which all the virtues 
love, 
And classic Hawthornden ? 

Yet never a path from day to day 
The pilgrim's footsteps range, 

Save but the solitary way 
To Burndale's ruined grange. 

A woful place was that, I ween, 

As sorrow could desire ; 
For nodding to the fall was each 
crumbling wall, 
And the roof was scathed with 
fire. 80 

It fell upon a summer's eve, 
While on Carnethy's headi 

The last faint gleams of the sun's 
low beams 
Had streaked the gray with red, 

And the convent bell did vespers 
tell 

Newbattle's oaks among, 
And mingled with the solemn knell 

Our Ladye's evening song; 

The heavy knell, the choir's faint 
swell, 

Came slowly down the wind, 90 
And on the pilgrim's ear they fell, 

As his wonted path he did find. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he 
was, 

Nor ever raised his eye, 
Until he came to that dreary place 

Which did all in ruins lie. 



THE FIRE-KING 



23 



He gazed on the walls, so scathed 
with fire, 
With many a bitter groan — 
And there was aware of a Gray 
Friar 
Resting him on a stone. 100 

1 Now, Christ thee save ! ' said the 
Gray Brother ; 
'Some pilgrim thou seemest to 
be.' 
But in sore amaze did Lord Al- 
bert gaze, 
Nor answer again made he. 

' 0, come ye from east or come ye 
from west, 
Or bring reliques from over the 
sea; 
Or come ye from the shrine of 
Saint James the divine, 
Or Saint John of Beverley ? ' 

'I come not from the shrine of 
Saint James the divine, 
Nor bring reliques from over 
the sea: no 

I bring but a curse from our father, 
the Pope, 
Which forever will cling to me.' 

1 Now, wof ul pilgrim, say not so ! 

But kneel thee down to me, 
And shrive thee so clean of thy 
deadly sin 

That absolved thou mayst be.' 

'And who art thou, thou Gray 
Brother, 
That I should shrive to thee, 
When He to whom are given the 
keys of earth and heaven 
Has no power to pardon me?' 120 

1 0, 1 am sent from a distant clime. 

Five thousand miles away, 
And all to absolve a foul, foul 
crime, 

Done here "twixt night and day.' 



The pilgrim kneeled him on the 
sand, 
And thus began his saye — 
When on his neck an ice-cold 
hand 
Did that Gray Brother laye. 



THE FIRE-KING 

The blessings of the evil Genii, which 
are curses, were upon him. — Eastern 
Tale. 

Bold knights and fair dames, to 

my harp give an ear, 
Of love and of war and of wonder 

to hear ; 
And you haply may sigh in the 

midst of your glee 
At the tale of Count Albert and 

fair Rosalie. 

0, see you that castle, so strong 
and so high? 

And see you that lady, the tear in 
her eye ? 

And see you that palmer from Pal- 
estine's land, 

The shell on his hat and the staff 
in his hand? — 

' Now, palmer, gray palmer, O, tell 
unto me, 

What news bring you home from 
the Holy Countrie ? 10 

And how goes the warfare by Gal- 
ilee's strand? 

And how fare our nobles, the 
flower of the land ? ' 

' 0, well goes the warfare by Gali- 
lee's wave. 

For Gilead and Nablous and Ra- 
man we have ; 

And well fare our nobles by Mount 
Lebanon, 

For the heathen have lost and the 
Christians have won.' 



/! 



24 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



A fair chain of gold mid her ring- 
lets there hung ; 

O'er the palmer's gray locks the 
fair chain has she flung : 

1 palmer, gray palmer, this chain 
be thy fee 

For the news thou hast brought 
from the Holy Countrie. 20 

And, palmer, good palmer, by Gal- 
ilee's wave, 

O, saw ye Count Albert, the gentle 
and brave ? 

When the Crescent went back and 
the Red-cross rushed on, 

0, saw ye him foremost on Mount 
Lebanon ? » 

' lady, fair lady, the tree green it 

grows ; 
lady, fair lady, the stream pure 

it flows ; 
Your castle stands strong and 

your hopes soar on high : 
But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms 

to die. 

The green boughs they wither, 
the thunderbolt falls, 

It leaves of your castle but levin- 
scorched walls ; 30 

The pure stream runs muddy ; the 
gay hope is gone ; 

Count Albert is prisoner on Mount 
Lebanon.' 

0, she's ta'en a horse should be 

fleet at her speed ; 
And she 's ta'en a sword should be 

sharp at her need ; 
And she has ta'en shipping for 

Palestine's land, 
To ransom Count Albert from 

Soldanrie's hand. 

Small thought had Count Albert 

on fair Rosalie, 
Small thought on his faith or his 

knighthood had he : 



A heathenish damsel his light 

heart had won, 
The Soldan's fair daughter of 

Mount Lebanon. 4 o 

* Christian, brave Christian, my 

love wouldst thou be, 
Three things must thou do ere I 

hearken to thee : 
Our laws and our worship on thee 

shalt thou take ; 
And this thou shalt first do for 

Zulema's sake. 

'And next, in the cavern where 
burns evermore 

The mystical flame which the Curd- 
mans adore, 

Alone and in silence three nights 
shalt thou wake ; 

And this thou shalt next do for 
Zulema's sake. 

' And last, thou shalt aid us with 

counsel and hand, 
To drive the Frank robber from 

Palestine's land ; 50 

For my lord and my love then 

Count Albert I '11 take, 
When all this is accomplished for 

Zulema's sake.' 

He has thrown by his helmet and 

cross-handled sword, 
Renouncing his knighthood, deny. 

ing his Lord ; 
He has ta'en the green caftan, and 

turban put on, 
For the love of the maiden of fair 

Lebanon. 

And in the dread cavern, deep deep 

under ground, 
Which fifty steel gates and steel 

portals surround, 
He has watched until daybreak, 

but sight saw he none, 
Save the flame burning bright 011 

its altar of stone. 60 



THE FIRE-KIXG 



25 



Amazed was the Princess, the 

Soldan amazed, 
Sore murmured the priests as on 

Albert they gazed ; 
They searched all his garments, 

and under his weeds 
They found and took from him his 

rosary beads. 

Again in the cavern, deep deep 

under ground, 
He watched the lone night, while 

the winds whistled round ; 
Far off was their murmur, it came 

not more nigh, 
The flame burned unmoved and 

naught else did he spy. 

Loud murmured the priests and 

amazed was the king, 
While many dark spells of their 

witchcraft they sing ; 70 

They searched Albert's body, and, 

lo ! on his breast 
Was the sign of the Cross by his 

father impressed. 

The priests they erase it with care 

and with pain, 
And the recreant returned to the 

cavern again ; 
But as he descended a whisper 

there fell : 
It was his good angel, who bade 

him farewell ! 

High bristled his hair, his heart 

fluttered and beat, 
And he turned him five steps, half 

resolved to retreat ; 
But his heart it was hardened, his 

purpose was gone, 
When he thought of the maiden of 

fair Lebanon. 80 

Scarce passed he the archway, the 
threshold scarce trode, 

When the winds from the four 
points of heaven were abroad, 



They made each steel portal to 

rattle and ring, 
And borne on the blast came the 

dread Fire-King. 

Full sore rocked the cavern when- 
e'er he drew nigh, 

The fire on the altar blazed bicker- 
ing and high ; 

In volcanic explosions the moun- 
tains proclaim 

The dreadful approach of the 
Monarch of Flame. 

Unmeasured in height, undistin- 
guished in form, 

His breath it was lightning, his 
voice it was storm ; 90 

I ween the stout heart of Count 
Albert was tame, 

When he saw in his terrors the 
Monarch of Flame. 

In his hand a broad falchion blue- 
glimmered through smoke, 

And Mount Lebanon shook as the 
monarch he spoke : 

1 With this brand shalt thou con- 
quer, thus long and no more, 

Till thou bend to the Cross and the 
Virgin adore.' 

The cloud-shrouded arm gives the 

weapon ; and see ! 
The recreant receives the charmed 

gift on his knee : 
The thunders growl distant and 

faint gleam the fires, 
As, borne on the whirlwind, the 

phantom retires. 100 

Count Albert has armed him the 

Paynim among, 
Though his heart it was false, yet 

his arm it was strong ; 
And the Red-cross waxed faint and 

the Crescent came on, 
From the day he commanded on 

Mount Lebanon. 



26 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's 

wave, 
The sands of Samaar drank the 

blood of the brave ; 
Till the Knights of the Temple and 

Knights of Saint John, 
With Salem's King Baldwin, 

against him came on. 

The war-cymbals clattered, the 

trumpets replied, 
The lances were couched, and they 

closed on each side ; 1 10 

And horseman and horses Count 

Albert o'erthrew, 
Till he pierced the thick tumult 

King Baldwin unto. 

Against the charmed blade which 

Count Albert did wield, 
The fence had been vain of the 

king's Ked-cross shield ; 
But a page thrust him forward the 

monarch before, 
And cleft the proud turban the 

renegade wore. 

So fell was the dint that Count 

Albert stooped low 
Before the crossed shield to his 

steel saddlebow ; 
And scarce had he bent to the 

Ked-cross his head, — 
1 Bonne Grace, Notre Dame ! ' he 

unwittingly said. 120 

Sore sighed the charmed sword, 

for its virtue was o'er, 
It sprung from his grasp and was 

never seen more ; 
But true men have said that the 

lightning's red wing 
Did waft back the brand to the 

dread Fire-King. 

He clenched his set teeth and his 

gauntleted hand ; 
He stretched with one buffet that 

page on the strand ; 



As back from the stripliug the 
broken casque rolled, 

You might see the blue eyes and 
the ringlets of gold. 

Short time had Count Albert in 

horror to stare 
On those death-swimming eyeballs 

and blood-clotted hair ; 130 
For down came the Templars, like 

Cedron in flood, 
And dyed their long lances in 

Saracen blood. 

The Saracens, Curdmans, and 

Ishmaelites yield 
To the scallop, the saltier, and 

crossleted shield ; 
And the eagles were gorged with 

the infidel dead 
From Bethsaida's fountains to 

Naphthali's head. 

The battle is over on Bethsaida's 

plain.— 
0,who is yon Paynim lies stretched 

mid the slain? 
And who is yon page lying cold at 

his knee?— 
0, who but Count Albert and fair 

Rosalie? 140 

The lady was buried in Salem's 
blest bound, 

The count he was left to the vul- 
ture and hound : 

Her soul to high mercy Our Lady 
did bring ; 

His went on the blast to the dread 
Fire-King. 

Yet many a minstrel in harping 

can tell 
How the Red-cross it conquered, 

the Crescent it fell : 
And lords and gay ladies have 

sighed mid their glee 
At the tale of Count Albert and 

fair Rosalie. 



THE SHEPHERD'S TALE 



27 



BOTHWELL CASTLE 

When fruitful Clydesdale's apple- 
bowers 
Are mellowing in the noon ; 
When sighs round Pembroke's 
ruined towers 
The sultry breath of June ; 

When Clyde, despite his sheltering 
wood, 

Must leave his channel dry, 
And vainly o'er the limpid flood 

The angler guides his fly; 

If chance by Bothwell's lovely 
braes 
A wanderer thou hast been, 
Or hid thee from the summer's 
blaze 
In Blantyre's bowers of green, 

Full where the copsewood opens 
wild 
Thy pilgrim step hath staid, 
Where Bothwell's towers in ruin 
piled 
O'erlook the verdant glade ; 

And many a tale of love and fear 
Hath mingled with the scene — 

Of Bothwell's banks that bloomed 
so dear 
And Bothwell's bonny Jean. 

O, if with rugged minstrel lays 

Unsated be thy ear, 
And thou of deeds of other days 

Another tale wilt hear, — 

Then all beneath the spreading 
beech, 
Flung careless on the lea, 
The Gothic muse the tale shall 
teach 
Of Bothwell's sisters three. 

Wight Wallace stood on Deck- 
mont head, 
He blew his bugle round, 



Till the wild bull in Cadyow wood 
Has started at the sound. 

Saint George's cross, o'er Bothwell 
hung, 

Was waving far and wide, 
And from the lofty turret flung 

Its crimson blaze on Clyde ; 

And rising at the bugle blast 
That marked the Scottish foe, 

Old England's yeomen mustered 
fast, 
And bent the Norman bow. 

Tall in the midst Sir Aylmer rose, 
Proud Pembroke's Earl was 
he- 
While— 



THE SHEPHERD'S TALE 



And ne'er but once, my son, he 
says, 

Was yon sad cavern trod, 
In persecution's iron days 

When the land was left by God. 

From Bewlie bog with slaughter 
red 
A wanderer hither drew, 
And oft he stopt and turned his 
head, 
As by fits the night wind blew ; 

For trampling round by Cheviot 

edge 

Were heard the troopers keen, 10 

And frequent from the Whitelaw 

ridge 

The death-shot flashed between. 

The moonbeams through the 
misty shower 
On yon dark cavern fell : 
Through the cloudy night the 
snow gleamed white, 
Which sunbeam ne'er could 
quell. 



28 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



'Yon cavern dark is rough and 
rude, 
And cold its jaws of snow ; 
But more rough and rude are the 
men of blood 
That hunt my life below ! 20 

1 Yon spell-bound den, as the aged 
tell, 
Was hewn by demon's hands ; 
But I had lourd melle with the 
fiends of hell 
Than with Clavers and his band.' 

He heard the deep-mouthed blood- 
hound bark, 

He heard the horses neigh, 
He plunged him in the cavern dark, 

And downward sped his way. 

Now faintly down the winding path 

Came the cry of the faulting 

hound, 30 

And the muttered oath of balked 

wrath 

Was lost in hollow sound. 

He threw him on the flinted floor, 
And held his breath for fear ; 

He rose and bitter cursed his foes, 
As the sounds died on his ear. 

' O, bare thine arm, thou battling 

Lord, 

For Scotland's wandering band ; 

Dash from the oppressor's grasp 

the sword, 

And sweep him from the land ! 40 

\Forget not thou thy people's 
groans 
From dark Dunnotter's tow T er, 
Mixed with the sea-fowl's shrilly 
moans 
And ocean's bursting roar ! 

4 0, in fell Clavers' hour of pride, 
Even in his mightiest day, 

As bold he strides through con- 
quest's tide, 
O, stretch him on the clay ! 



1 His widow and his little ones, 
O, may their tower of trust 50 

Remove its strong foundation 
stones, 
And crush them in the dust ! ' 

' Sweet prayers to me,' a voice re- 
plied, 

1 Thrice welcome, guest of mine ! ' 
And glimmering on the cavern side 

A light was seen to shine. 

An aged man in amice brown 
Stood by the wanderer's side, 

By powerful charm a dead man's 
arm 
The torch's light supplied. 60 

From each stiff finger stretched 
upright 
Arose a ghastly flame, 
That w T aved not in the blast of 
night 
Which through the cavern came. 

0, deadly blue was that taper's 
hue 
That flamed the cavern o'er, 
But more deadly blue was the 
ghastly hue 
Of his eyes who the taper bore. 

He laid on his head a hand like 
lead, 
As heavy, pale, and cold— 70 
1 Yengeance be thine, thou guest 
of mine, 
If thy heart be firm and bold. 

' But if faint thy heart, and caitiff 
fear 
Thy recreant sinews know, 
The mountain erne thy heart shall 
tear, 
Thy nerves the hooded crow.' 

The wanderer raised him undis- 
mayed : 

4 My soul, by dangers steeled, 
Is stubborn as my Border blade, 

Which never knew to yield. 80 



THE SHEPHERD'S TALE 



29 



4 And if thy power can speed the 


And after short while by female 


hour 


guile 


Of vengeance on my foes, 


Sir Michael Scott was slain. 


Theirs be the fate from bridge and 




gate 


' But me and my brethren in this 


To feed the hooded crows.' 


cell 




His mighty charms retain, — 


The Brownie looked him in the 


And he that can quell the power- 


face, 


ful spell 


And his color fled with speed — 


Shall o'er broad Scotland reign.' 


1 1 fear me,' quoth he, ' uneath it 




will be 


He led him through an iron door 


To match thy word and deed. 


And up a winding stair, 




And in wild amaze did the wan- 


'In ancient days when English 


derer gaze 


bands 


On the sight which opened 


Sore ravaged Scotland fair, 90 


there. 120 


The sword and shield of Scottish 




land 


Through the gloomy night flashed 


Was valiant Halbert Kerr. 


ruddy light, 




A thousand torches glow ; 


'A warlock loved the warrior 


The cave rose high, like the 


well, 


vaulted sky, 


Sir Michael Scott by name, 


O'er stalls in double row. 


And he sought for his sake a spell 




to make, 


In every stall of that endless hall 


Should the Southern foemen 


Stood a steed in barding bright; 


tame. 


At the foot of each steed, all armed 




save the head, 


4 " Look thou," he said, " from Cess- 


Lay stretched a stalwart knight. 


ford head 




As the July sun sinks low, 


In each mailed hand was a naked 


And when glimmering white on 


brand ; 


Cheviot's height 


As they lay on the black bull's 


Thou shalt spy a wreath of 


hide, 130 


snow, 100 


Each visage stern did upwards turn 


The spell is complete which shall 


With eyeballs fixed and wide. 


bring to thy feet 




The haughty Saxon foe." 


A launcegay strong, full twelve 




ells long, 


1 For many a year wrought the 


By every warrior hung ; 


wizard here 


At each pommel there for battle 


In Cheviot's bosom low, 


yare 


Till the spell was complete and in 


A Jedwood axe was slung. 


July's heat 




Appeared December's snow ; 


The casque hung near each cava- 


But Cessford's Halbert never came 


lier ; 


The wondrous cause to know. 


The plumes waved mournfully 




At every tread which the wanderer 


1 For years before in Bowden aisle 


made 


The warrior's bones had lain, 1 10 


Through the hall of gramarye. 140 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



The ruddy beam of the torches' 
gleam, 

That glared the warriors on, 
Reflected light from armor bright, 

In noontide splendor shone. 

And onward seen in lustre sheen, 
Still lengthening on the sight, 

Through the boundless hall stood 
steeds in stall, 
And by each lay a sable knight. 

Still as the dead lay each horse- 
man dread, 
And moved nor limb nor 
tongue; 150 

Each steed stood stiff as an earth- 
fast cliff, 
Nor hoof nor bridle rung. 

No sounds through all the spacious 
hall 
The deadly still divide, 
Save where echoes aloof from the 
vaulted roof 
To the wanderer's step replied. 

At length before his wondering 
eyes, 

On an iron column borne, 
Of antique shape and giant size 

Appeared a sword and horn. 160 

1 Now choose thee here,' quoth his 
leader, 
* Thy venturous fortune try ; 
Thy woe and weal, thy boot and 
bale, 
In yon brand and bugle lie.' 

To the fatal brand he mounted his 
hand, 
But his soul did quiver and 
quail ; 
The life-blood did start to his 
shuddering heart, 
And left him wan and pale. 

The brand he forsook, and the 
horn he took 
To 'say a gentle sound; 170 



But so wild a blast from the bugle 
brast 
That the Cheviot rocked around. 

From Forth to Tees, from seas to 
seas, 
The awful bugle rung ; 
On Carlisle wall and Berwick 
withal 
To arms the warders sprung. 

With clank and clang the cavern 

rang, 

The steeds did stamp and neigh ; 

And loud was the yell as each 

warrior fell 

Sterte up with hoop and cry. 180 

' Woe, woe,' they cried, ' thou cai- 
tiff coward, 
That ever thou wert born ! 
Why drew ye not the knightly 
sword 
Before ye blew the horn ? » 

The morning on the mountain 
shone 
And on the bloody ground, 
Hurled from the cave with shiv- 
ered bone, 
The mangled wretch was found. 

And still beneath the cavern dread 
Among the glidders gray, 190 

A shapeless stone with lichens 
spread 
Marks where the wanderer lay. 




Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, 
And pensive mark the lingering 
snow 
In all his scaurs abide, 
And slow dissolving from the hill 
In many a sightless, soundless 
rill, 
Feed sparkling Bowmont's tide. 



FREDERICK AND ALICE 



3* 



Fair shines the stream by bank 

and lea, 
As wimpling to the eastern sea 

She seeks TilFs sullen bed, 
Indenting deep the fatal plain 
Where Scotland's noblest, brave 
in vain, 
Around their monarch bled. 

And westward hills on hills you 

see, 
Even as old Ocean's mightiest sea 
Heaves high her waves of foam, 
Dark and snow-ridged from Cuts- 

feld's wold 
To the proud foot of Cheviot 
rolled, 
Earth's mountain billows come. 



FREDERICK AND ALICE 

Frederick leaves the land of 
France, 
Homeward hastes his steps to 
measure, 
Careless casts the parting glance 
On the scene of former pleasure. 

Joying in his prancing steed, 
Keen to prove his untried blade, 

Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead 
Over mountain, moor, and glade. 

Helpless, ruined, left forlorn, 

Lovely Alice wept alone, 10 

Mourned o'er love's fond contract 
torn, 
Hope and peace and honor 
flown. 

Mark her breast's convulsive 
throbs ! 

See, the tear of anguish flows ! — 
Mingling soon with bursting sobs, 

Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. 

Wild she cursed and wild she 
prayed ; 
Seven long days and nights are 
o'er; 



Death in pity brought his aid, 19 
As the village bell struck four. 

Far from her and far from France, 
Faithless Frederick onward 
rides ; 
Marking blithe the morning's 
glance 
Mantling o'er the mountains' 
sides. 

Heard ye not the boding sound, 
As the tongue of yonder tower 

Slowly to the hills around 
Told the fourth, the fated hour ? 

Starts the steed and snuffs the 
air, 
Yet no cause of dread appears ; 
Bristles high the rider's hair, 3 r 
Struck with strange mysterious 
fears. 

Desperate, as his terrors rise, 
In the steed the spur he hides ; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anxious, restless, on he rides. 

Seven long days and seven long 

nights, 

Wild he wandered, woe the 

while ! 

Ceaseless care and causeless fright 

Urge his footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the seventh sad night de- 
scends; 41 
Rivers swell and rain -streams 
pour, 
While the deafening thunder lends 
All the terrors of its roar. 

Weary, wet, and spent with toil, 
Where his head shall Frederick 
hide? 

Where but in yon ruined aisle, 
By the lightning's flash descried. 

To the portal, dank and low, 
Fast his steed the wanderer 
bound : j 50 



32 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



Down a ruined staircase slow 
Next his darkling way he wound. 

Long drear vaults before him 
lie! 
Glimmering lights are seen to 
glide ! — 
' Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! 
Deign a sinner's steps to guide ! ' 

Often lost their quivering beam, 
Still the lights move slow be- 
fore, 

Till they rest their ghastly gleam 
Right against an iron door. 60 

Thundering voices from within, 
Mixed with peals of laughter, 
rose; 
As they fell, a solemn strain 
Lent its wild and wondrous 
close ! 

Midst the din he seemed to hear 
Voice of friends by death re- 
moved;— 
Well he knew that solemn air, 
'T was the lay that Alice 
loved. — 

Hark ! for now a solemn knell 
Four times on the still night 
broke ; 70 

Four times at its deadened swell 
Echoes from the ruins spoke. 

As the lengthened clangors die, 
Slowly opes the iron door ! 

Straight a banquet met his eye, 
But a funeral's form it wore ! 

Coffins for the seats extend ; 
All with black the board was 
spread ; 
Girt by parent, brother, friend, 
Long since numbered with the 
dead ! 80 

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound, 
Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; 



All arose with thundering sound ; 
All the expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre arms they 
wave, 
Wild their notes of welcome 
swell; — 
' Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! 
Perjured, bid the light fare- 
well ! ' 



CADYOW CASTLE 

ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT 
HONORABLE LADY ANNE HAM- 
ILTON 

When princely Hamilton's abode 
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic tow- 
ers, 
The song went round, the goblet 
flowed, 
And revel sped the laughing 
hours. 

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay 
sound, 
So sweetly rung each vaulted 
wall, 
And echoed light the dancer's 
bound, 
As mirth and music cheered the 
hall. 

But Cadyow's towers in ruins laid, 
And vaults by ivy mantled o'er, 

Thrill to the music of the shade, 1 1 
Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 

Yet still of Cadyow's faded fame 
You bid me tell a minstrel tale, 

And tune my harp of Border frame 
On the wild banks of Evandale. 

For thou, from scenes of courtly 

pride, 

From pleasure's lighter scenes, 

canst turn, 

To draw oblivion's pall aside 19 

And mark the long-forgotten urn. 



CADYOW CASTLE 



33 



Then, noble maid ! at thy command 

Again the crimibled halls shall 

rise; 

Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand, 

The past returns — the present 

flies. 

Where with the rock's wood-cov- 
ered side 
Were blended late the ruins 
green, 
Rise turrets in fantastic pride 
And feudal banners flaunt be- 
tween : 

Where the rude torrent's brawling 
course 
Was shagged with thorn and 
tangling sloe, 30 

The ashler buttress braves its 
force 
And ramparts frown in battled 
row. 

'T is night — the shade of keep and 
spire 
Obscurely dance on Evan's 
stream ; 
And on the wave the warder's fire 
Is checkering the moonlight 
beam. 

Fades slow their light; the east is 
gray; 
The weary warder leaves his 
tower ; 
Steeds snort, uncoupled stag- 
hounds bay, 
And merry hunters quit the 
bower. 40 

The drawbridge falls — they hurry 
out — 
Clatters each plank and swinging 
chain, 
As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout 
Urge the shy steed and slack the 
rein. 

First of his troop, the chief rode on ; 
His shouting merry-men throng 
behind ; 



The steed of princely Hamilton 
Was fleeter than the mountain 
wind. 

From the thick copse the roebucks 
bound, 
The startled red-deer scuds the 
plain, 50 

For the hoarse bugle's warrior- 
sound 
Has roused their mountain 
haunts again. 

Through the huge oaks of Evan- 
dale, 
Whose limbs a thousand years 
have worn, 
What sullen roar comes down the 
gale 
And drowns the hunter's pealing 
horn ? 

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase 
That roam in woody Caledon, 

Crashing the forest in his race, 
The Mountain Bull comes thun- 
dering on. 60 

Fierce on the hunter's quivered 
band 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy 
glow, 
Spurns with black hoof and horn 
the sand, 
And tosses high his mane of 
snow. 

Aimed well the chieftain's lance 
has flown ; 
Struggling in blood the savage 
lies; 
His roar is sunk in hollow groan — 
Sound, merry huntsmen! sound 
the pryse I 

'Tis noon — against the knotted 

oak 69 

The hunters rest the idle spear ; 

Curls through the trees the slender 

smoke, 

Where yeomen dight the wood- 

land cheer. 



34 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



Proudly the chieftain marked his 

clan, 

On greenwood lap all careless 

thrown, 

Yet missed his eye the boldest man 

That bore the name of Hamilton. 

1 Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his 
place, 
Still wont our weal and woe to 
share ? 
Why comes he not our sport to 
grace ? 
Why shares he not our hunter's 
fare?' 80 

Stern Claud replied with darkening 
face — 
Gray Paisley's haughty lord was 
he — 

* At merry feast or buxom chase 

No more the warrior wilt thou see. 

'Few suns have set since Wood- 
houselee 
Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright gob- 
lets foam, 
When to his hearths in social glee 
The war-worn soldier turned him 
home. 

'There, wan from her maternal 
throes, 
His Margaret, beautiful and 
mild, 90 

Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, 
And peaceful nursed her new- 
born child. 

* change accursed ! past are those 

days; 
False Murray's ruthless spoilers 

came, 
And, for the hearth's domestic 

blaze, 
Ascends destruction's volumed 

flame. 

4 What sheeted phantom wanders 

wild 
Where mountain Eske through 

woodland flows, 



Her arms enfold a shadowy child — 
O ! is it she, the pallid rose? 100 

' The wildered traveller sees her 
glide, 
And hears her feeble voice with 
awe — 
" Revenge," she cries, "on Murray's 
pride ! 
And woe for injured Bothwell- 
haugh ! " » 

He ceased — and cries of rage and 
grief 
Burst mingling from the kindred 
band, 
And half arose the kindling chief, 
And half unsheathed his Arran 
brand. 

But who o'er bush, o'er stream and 
rock, 
Rides headlong with resistless 
speed, no 

Whose bloody poniard's frantic 
stroke 
Drives to the leap his jaded 
steed ; 

Whose cheek is pale, whose eye- 
balls glare, 
As one some visioned sight that 
saw, 
Whose hands are bloody, loose his 
hair ? — 
'Tishe! 'tis he! 't is Bothwell- 
haugh. 

From gory selle and reeling steed 

Sprung the fierce horseman with 

a bound, 

And, reeking from the recent deed, 

He dashed his carbine on the 

ground. 120 

Sternly he spoke— 4, T is sweet to 
hear 
In good greenwood the bugle 
blown, 
But sweeter to Revenge's ear 
To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 



CADYOW CASTLE 



35 



1 Your slaughtered quarry proudly 
trode 
At dawning morn o'er dale and 
down, 
But prouder base-born Murray 
rode 
Through old Linlithgow's crowd- 
ed town. 

* From the wild Border's humbled 

side, 

In haughty triumph marched 

he, 130 

"While Knox relaxed his bigot pride 

And smiled the traitorous pomp 

to see. 

' But can stern Power, with all his 
vaunt, 
Or Pomp, with all her courtly 
glare, 
The settled heart of Vengeance 
daunt, 
Or change the purpose of De- 
spair ? 

'With hackbut bent, my secret 
stand, 
Dark as the purposed deed, I 
chose, 
And marked where mingling in his 
band 
Trooped Scottish pipes and 
English bows. 140 

1 Dark Morton, girt with many a 
spear, 
Murder's foul minion, led the 
van; 
And clashed their broadswords in 
the rear 
The wild Macfarlanes' plaided 
clan. 

'Glencairn and stout Parkhead 
were nigh, 
Obsequious at their Regent's 
rein, 
And haggard Lindesay's iron eye, 
That saw fair Mary weep in 
vain. 



'Mid pennoned spears, a steely 
grove, 
Proud Murray's plumage floated 
high; 150 

Scarce could his trampling charger 
move, 
So close the minions crowded 
nigh. 

' From the raised vizor's shade his 
eye, 
Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks 
along, 
And his steel truncheon, waved on 
high, 
Seemed marshalling . the iron 
throng. 

' But yet his saddened brow con- 
fessed 
A passing shade of doubt and 
awe; 
Some fiend was whispering in his 
breast, 
" Beware of injured Bothwell- 
haugh ! " 160 

' The death-shot parts ! the charger 
springs ; 
Wild rises tumult's startling 
roar ! 
And Murray's plumy helmet 
rings — 
Rings on the ground to rise no 
more. 

' What joy the raptured youth can 
feel, 
To hear her love the loved one 
tell— 
Or he who broaches on his steel 
The wolf by whom his infant 
fell! 

' But dearer to my injured eye 
To see in dust proud Murray 
roll ; 170 

And mine was ten times trebled 
joy 
To hear him groan his felon 
soul. 



36 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



1 My Margaret's spectre glided 
near, 
With pride her bleeding victim 
saw, 
And shrieked in his death-deaf- 
ened ear, 
" Remember injured Bothwell- 
haugh ! " 

1 Then speed thee, noble Chatle- 
rault ! 
Spread to the wind thy bannered 
tree! 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale 
bow! — 
Murray is fallen and Scotland 
free ! ' 180 

Vaults every warrior to his steed; 
Loud bugles join their wild ac- 
claim— 
'Murray is fallen and Scotland 
freed ! 
Couch, Arran, couch thy spear 
of flame ! ' 

But see ! the minstrel vision fails — 
The glimmering spears are seen 
no more ; 

The shouts of war die on the gales, 
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bugle pealing high, 
The blackbird whistles down the 
vale, 190 

And sunk in ivied ruins lie 
The bannered towers of Evan- 
dale. 

For chiefs intent on bloody deed, 
And Vengeance shouting o'er 
the slain, 
Lo! high-born Beauty rules the 
steed, 
Or graceful guides the silken 
rein. 

And long may Peace and Pleasure 
own 
The maids who list the minstrel's 
tale: 



Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
On the fair banks of Evandale ! 



THE REIVER'S WEDDING 

O, will ye hear a mirthful bourd? 

Or will ye hear of courtesie ? 
Or will ye hear how a gallant lord 

Was wedded to a gay ladye ? 

' Ca' out the kye,' quo' the village 
herd, 
As he stood on the knowe, 
1 Ca' this ane's nine and that ane's 
ten, 
And bauld Lord William's cow.' 

4 Ah ! by my sooth,' quoth William 
then, 
1 And stands it that way now, 
When knave and churl have nine 
and ten, 
That the lord has but his cow ? 

' I swear by the light of the Mi- 
chaelmas moon, 
And the might of Mary high, 
And by the edge of my braidsword 
brown, 
They shall soon say Harden's 
kye.' 

He took a bugle frae his side, 
With names carved o'er and 
o'er — 

Full many a chief of meikle pride 
That Border bugle bore — 

He blew a note baith sharp and 
hie 
Till rock and water rang 
around — 
Threescore of moss-troopers and 
three 
Have mounted at that bugle 
sound. 

The Michaelmas moon had entered 
then, 
And ere she wan the full 



THE REIVER'S WEDDING 



37 



Ye might see by her light in Har- 
den glen 
A bow o' kye and a bassened 
bull. 

And loud and loud in Harden 
tower 
The quaigh gaed round wi' 
meikle glee ; 
For the English beef was brought 
in bower 
And the English ale flowed mer- 
rilie. 

And mony a guest from Teviot- 
side 
And Yarrow's Braes was there ; 
Was never a lord in Scotland 
wide 
That made more dainty fare, 

They ate, they laughed, they sang 
and quaffed, 
Till naught on board was seen, 
When knight and squire were 
boune to dine, 
But a spur of silver sheen. 

Lord William has ta'en his berry- 
brown steed — 
A sore shent man was he ; 
'Wait ye, my guests, a little 
speed — 
Weel feasted ye shall be.' 

He rode him down by Falsehope 
burn 

His cousin dear to see, 
With him to take priding turn — 

Wat-draw-the-Sword was he. 

And when he came to Falsehope 
glen, 
Beneath the trysting-tree, 
On the smooth green was carved 
plain, 
1 To Lochwood bound are we.' 

1 0, if they be gane to dark Loch- 
wood 
To drive the Warden's gear, 



Betwixt our names, I ween, there 's 
feud; 
I '11 go and have my share : 

' For little reck I for Johnstone's 
feud, 
The Warden though he be.' 
So Lord William is away to dark 
Lochwood 
With riders barely three. 

The Warden's daughters in Loch- 
wood sate, 

Were all both fair and gay, 
All save the Lady Margaret, 

And she was wan and wae. 

The sister Jean had a full fair 
skin, 
And Grace was bauld and braw ; 
But the leal-fast heart her breast 
within 
It weel was worth them a'. 

Her father's pranked her sisters 
twa 
With meikle joy and pride ; 
But Margaret maun seek Dun- 
drennan's wa' — 
She ne'er can be a bride. 

On spear and casque by gallants 
gent 

Her sisters' scarfs were borne, 
But never at tilt or tournament 

Were Margaret's colors worn. 

Her sisters rode to Thirlstane 
bower, 
But she was left at name 
To wander round the gloomy 
tower, 
And sigh young Harden's name. 

1 Of all the knights, the knight most 
fair, 
From Yarrow to the Tyne,' 
Soft sighed the maid, ■ is Harden's 
heir, 
But ne'er can he be mine : 



38 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



1 Of all the maids, the foulest maid 
From Teviot to the Dee, 

Ah ! ' sighing sad, that lady said, 
'Can ne'er young Harden's be.' 

She looked up the briery glen, 
And up the mossy brae, 

And she saw a score of her fa- 
ther's men 
Yclad in the Johnstone gray. 

0, fast and fast they downwards 
sped 

The moss and briers among, 
And in the midst the troopers led 

A shackled knight along. 



CHRISTIE'S WILL 

Traquair has ridden up Chapel- 
hope, 
And sae has he down by the 
Gray Mare's Tail; 
He never stinted the light gallop, 
Until he speerecl for Christie's 
Will. 

Now Christie's Will peeped frae 
the tower, 
And out at the shot-hole keeked 
he; 
4 And ever unlucky,' quo' he, ' is 
the hour, 
That the Warden comes to speer 
for me ! ' 

1 Good Christie's Will, now, have 
nae fear ! 
Nae harm, good Will, shall hap 
to thee : 
I saved thy life at the Jeddart 
air, 
At the Jeddart air frae the jus- 
tice tree. 

'Bethink how ye sware, by the 
salt and the bread, 
By the lightning, the wind, and 
the rain, 



That if ever of Christie's Will I 
had need, 
He would pay me my service 
again.' 

'Gramercy, my lord,' quo' Chris- 
tie's Will, 
1 Gramercy, my lord, for your 
grace to me ! 
When I turn my cheek, and claw 
my neck, 
I think of Traquair and the Jed- 
dart tree.' 

And he has opened the fair tower 
yate, 
To Traquair and a' his companie; 
The spule o' the deer on the board 
he has set, 
The fattest that ran on the Hut- 
ton Lee. 

'Now, wherefore sit ye sad, my 
lord ? 
And wherefore sit ye mourn- 
f ullie ? 
And why eat ye not of the venison 
I shot, 
At the dead of night on Hutton 
Lee?' 

' weel may I stint of feast and 
sport, 
And in my mind be vexed sair ! 
A vote of the cankered Session 
Court, 
Of land and living will make me 
bare. 

' But if auld Difrie to heaven were 
flown, 
Or if auld Durie to hell were 
gane, 
Or ... if he could be but ten days 
stoun . . . 
My bonny braid lands would still 
be my aim' 

' O, mony a time, my lord,' he said, 
' I 've stown the horse frae the 
sleeping loon ; 



CHRISTIE'S WILL 



39 



But for you I'll steal a beast as 
braid, 
For I'll steal Lord Durie frae 
Edinburgh toun. 

' O, raony a time, my lord,' he said, 
' I 've stown a kiss frae a sleep- 
ing wench ; 
But for you I '11 do as kittle a deed, 
For I'll steal an auld lurdane 
aff the bench.' 

And Christie's Will is to Edin- 
burgh gane ; 
At the Borough Muir then en- 
tered he ; 
And as he passed the gallow- 
stane, 
He crossed his brow and he bent 
his knee.- 

He lighted at Lord Durie's door, 
And there he knocked most 
manf ullie ; 
And up and spake Lord Durie sae 
stour, 
'What tidings, thou stalward 
groom, tome?' 

1 The fairest lady in Teviotdale 
Has sent, maist reverent sir, for 
thee ; 
She pleas at the Session for her 
land, a' haill, 
And fain she wad plead her 
cause to thee.' 

1 But how can I to that lady ride, 

With saving of my dignitie ? ' 
1 O a curch and mantle ye may 
wear, 
And in my cloak ye sail muffled 
be.' 

Wi' curch on head, and cloak 
ower face, 
He mounted the judge on a pal- 
frey f yne ; 
He rode away, a right round pace, 
And Christie's Will held the bri- 
dle reyn. 



The Lothian Edge they were not 
o'er, 
When they heard bugles bauldly 
ring, 
And, hunting over MiddletonMoor, 
They met, I ween, our noble 
King. 

When Willie looked upon our 
King, 
I wot a frighted man was he ! 
But ever auld Durie was startled 
mair, 
For tyning of his dignitie. 

The King he crossed himself, iwis, 
When as the pair came riding 
bye — 
'An uglier crone, and a sturdier 
loon, 
I think, were never seen with 
eye ! ' 

Willie has hied to the tower of 
Graeme, 
He took auld Durie on his 
back, 
He shot him down to the dungeon 
deep, 
Which garred his auld banes gie 
mony a crack. 

For nineteen days, and nineteen 
nights, 
Of sun, or moon, or midnight 
stern, 
Auld Durie never saw a blink, 
The lodging was sae dark and 
dern. 

He thought the warlocks o' the 
rosy cross, 
Had f anged him in their nets sae 
fast; 
Or that the gipsies' glamoured gang 
Had laired his learning at the 
last. 

' Hey ! Batty, lad ! far yaud ! far 
yaud ! ' 



40 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



These were the morning sounds 

heard he ; 
And ever * Alack ! ' auld Durie 

cried, 
* The deil is hounding his tykes 

on me ! ' — 

And whiles a voice on Baudrons 
cried, 
With sound uncouth, and sharp, 
and hie ; 
' I have tar - barrelled mony a 
witch, 
But now, I think, they '11 clear 
scores wi' me ! * 

The King has caused a hill be 
wrote, 
And he has set it on the Tron, — 
'He that will bring Lord Durie 
back, 
Shall have five hundred merks 
and one.' 

Traquair has written a privie 
letter, 
And he has sealed it wi' his 
seal,— 
1 Ye may let the auld brock out o' 
the poke ; 
The land 's my ain, and a' 's gane 
weel.' — 

Will has [mounted his bonny 

black, 
And to the tower of Graeme did 

trudge, 
And once again, on his sturdy 

back, 
Has he hente up the weary 

judge. 

He brought him to the council 
stairs, 
And there full loudly shouted 
he, 

1 Gie me my guerdon, my sove- 

reign liege, 
And take ye back your auld 
Durie ! ' 



THOMAS THE RHYMER 

Ancient. 

True Thomas lay on Huntlie 
bank; 
A ferlie he spied wi' his ee ; 
And there he saw a ladye bright, 
Come riding down by the Eildon 
Tree. 

Her skirt was o' the grass-green 
silk, 

Her mantle o' the velvet f yne ; 
At ilka tett of her horse's mane, 

Hung fifty siller bells and nine. 

True Thomas, he pulled aff his cap, 
And louted low down to his 
knee, 
'All hail, thou mighty Queen of 
Heaven ! 
For thy peer on earth I never 
did see.' 

' no, no, Thomas,' she said, 
' That name does not belang to 
me; 
I am but the Queen of fair Elfland, 
That am hither come to visit 
thee. 

'Harp and carp, Thomas,' she 
said; 

' Harp and carp along wi' me ; 
And if ye dare to kiss my lips, 

Sure of your bodie I will be.' 

' Betide me weal, betide me woe, 
That weird shall never daunton 
me.' — 

Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, 
All underneath the Eildon Tree. 

' Now, ye maun go wi' me,' she 
said; 
' True Thomas, ye maun go wi' 
me; 
And ye maun serve me seven 
years, 
Thro' weal or woe as may chance 
to be.' 



THOMAS THE RHYMER 



41 



She mounted on her milk-white 
steed; 
She 's ta'en true Thomas up he- 
hind: 
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung, 
The steed flew swifter than the 
wind. 

they rade on, and farther on ; 
The steed gaed swifter than the 

wind ; 
Until they reached a desert wide, 
And living land was left be- 
hind. 

1 Light down, light down, now, 

true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my 

knee; 
Abide and rest a little space, 
And I will shew you ferlies 

three. 

1 see ye not yon narrow road, 
So thick beset with thorns and 
briers ? 
That is the path of righteousness, 
Though after it ] but few en- 
quires. 

1 And see ye not that braid braid 
road, 
That lies across that lily leven ? 
That is the path of wickedness, 
Though some call it the road to 
heaven. 

1 And see not ye that bonny road, 
That winds about the fernie 
brae ? 
That is the road to fair Elfland, 
"Where thou and I this night 
maun gae. 

4 But, Thomas, ye maun hold your 
tongue, 
Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
For, if you speak word in Elflyn 
land, 
Ye '11 ne'er get back to your ain 
countrie.' 



they rade on, and farther on, 
And they waded through rivers 

aboon the knee, 
And they saw neither sun nor 
moon, 
But they heard the roaring of the 
sea. 

It was mirk mirk night, and there 
was nae stern light, 
And they waded through red 
blude to the knee ; 
For a' the blude that's shed on 
earth 
Kins through the springs 0' that 
countrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden 
green, 
And she pu'd an apple frae a 
tree — 
'Take this for thy wages, true 
Thomas ; 
It will give thee the tongue that 
can never lie.' 

'My tongue is mine ain,' true 
Thomas said : 
'A gudely gift ye wad gie to 
me! 

1 neither dought to buy nor sell, 
At fair or tryst where I may 

be. 

4 1 dought neither speak to prince 
or peer, 
Nor ask of grace from fair 
ladye.' 
' Now hold thy peace ! ' the lady 
said, 
' For as I say, so must it be.' 

He has gotten a coat of the even 
cloth, 
And a pair of shoes of velvet 
green ; 
And till seven years were gane 
and past, 
True Thomas on earth was never 
seen. 



42 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



PART SECOND 

Altered from ancient prophecies. 

When seven years were come and 
gane, 
The sun blinked fair on pool and 
stream ; 
And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank, 
Like one awakened from a 
dream. 

He heard the trampling of a steed, 
He saw the flash of armor flee, 

And he beheld a gallant knight 
Come riding down by the Eildon- 
tree. 

He was a stalwart knight, and 
strong ; 
Of giant make he 'peared to 
be: 
He stirred his horse, as he were 
wode, 
Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion 
free. 

Says — 'Well met, well met, true 
Thomas ! 
Some uncouth ferlies show to 
me.' 
Says — 'Christ thee save, Corspat- 
rick brave 
Thrice welcume, good Dunbar, 
tome! 

1 Light down, light down, Corspat- 
rick brave ! 
And I will show thee curses 
three, 
Shall gar fair Scotland greet and 
grane, 
And change the green to the 
black livery. 

1 A storm shall roar this very hour, 

From Ross's Hills to Solway 

sea.' 

1 Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar ! 

For the sun shines sweet on 

fauld and lea.' 



He put his hand on the Earlie's 
head; 
He showed him a rock beside the 
sea, 
Where a king lay stiff beneath his 
steed, 
And steel - dight nobles wiped 
their ee. 

1 The neist curse lights on Branx- 
ton hills : 
By Flodden's high and heathery 
side, 
Shall wave a banner red as blude, 
And chieftains throng wi' meikle 
pride. 

4 A Scottish King shall come full 
keen, 
The ruddy lion beareth he ; 
A feathered arrow sharp, I ween, 
Shall make him wink and warre 
to see. 

' When he is bloody, and all to 
bledde, 
Thus to his men he still shall 
say — 
"For God's sake, turn ye back 
again, 
And give yon southern folk a 
fray! 
Why should I lose the right is 
mine? 
My doom is not to die this day." 

' Yet turn ye to the eastern hand, 
And woe and wonder ye sail 
see; 
How forty thousand spearmen 
stand, 
Where yon rank river meets the 
sea. 

'There shall the lion lose the gylte, 
And the libbards bear it clean 
away; 
At Pinkyn Clench there shall be 
spilt 
Much gentil bluid that day.' 



THOMAS THE RHYMER 



43 



4 Enough, enough of curse and 
ban; 
Some blessings show thou now 
to me, 
Or, by the faith o' my bodie,' Cors- 
Patrick said, 
4 Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw 
me! ' 

4 The first of blessings I shall thee 
show, 
Is by a burn, that 's called of 
bread ; 
Where Saxon men shall tine the 
bow, 
And find their arrows lack the 
head. 

4 Beside that brigg, out ower that 
burn, 
Where the water bickereth 
bright and sheen 
Shall many a falling courser 
spurn, 
And knights shall die in battle 
keen. 

' Beside a headless cross of stone, 
The libbards there shall lose the 
gree; 
The raven shall come, the erne 
shall go, 
And drink the Saxon bluid sae 
free. 
The cross of stone they shall not 
know, 
So thick the corses there shall 
be.' 

1 But tell me now,' said brave Dun- 
bar 
4 True Thomas, tell now unto 
me, 
What man shall rule the isle Bri- 
tain, 
Even from the north to the south- 
ern sea ? ' 

'A French Queen shall bear the 
son, 
Shall rule all Britain to the sea ; 



He of the Bruce 's blood shall 
come, 
As near as in the ninth degree. 

'The waters worship shall his 
race ; 
Likewise the waves of the far- 
thest sea ; 
For they shall ride over ocean 
wide, 
With hempen bridles, and horse 
of tree.' 

PART THIKD 

Modern. 

When seven years more were 
come and gone, 
Was war through Scotland 
spread, 
And Euberslaw showed high Dun- 
yon 
His beacon blazing red. 

Then all by bonny Coldingknow, 
Pitched palliouns took their 
room, 
And crested helms, and spears 
a-rowe, 
Glanced gaily through the 
broom, 

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, 

Resounds the ensenzie ; 
They roused the deer from Cad- 
denhead, 

To distant Torwoodlee. 

The feast was spread in Ercil- 
doune. 
In Learmont's high and ancient 
hall : 
And there were knights of great 
renown, 
And ladies, laced in pall. 

Nor lacked they, while they sat at 
dine, 
The music nor the tale, 



44 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



Nor goblets of the blood-red wine, 


Till lovely Isolde's lily hand 


Nor mantling qnaighs of ale. 


Had probed the rankling wound. 


True Thomas rose, with harp in 


With gentle hand and soothing 


hand, 


tongue 


When as the feast was done : 


She bore the leech's part ; 


(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land, 


And, while she o'er his sick-bed 


The elfin harp he won.) 


hung, 




He paid her with his heart. 


Hushed were the throng, both limb 




and tongue, 


fatal was the gift, I ween ! 


And harpers for envy pale ; 


For, doomed in evil tide, 


And armed lords leaned on their 


The maid must be rude Cornwall's 


swords, 


queen, 


And hearkened to the tale. 


His cowardly uncle's bride. 


In numbers high, the witching 


Their loves, their woes, the gifted 


tale 


bard, 


The prophet poured along ; 


In fairy tissue wove ; 


No after bard might e'er avail 


Where lords, and knights, and la- 


Those numbers to prolong. 


dies bright, 




In gay confusion strove. 


Yet fragments of the lofty strain 




Float down the tide of years, 


The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale, 


As, buoyant on the stormy main, 


High reared its glittering head ; 


A parted wreck appears. 


And Avalon's enchanted vale 




In all its wonders spread. 


He sung King Arthur's Table 




Bound : 


Brangwain was there, and Segra- 


The Warrior of the Lake ; 


more, 


How courteous Gawaine met the 


And fiend-born Merlin's grama- 


wound, 


rye; 


And bled for ladies' sake. 


Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, 




who could sing but he ? 


But chief, in gentle Tristrem's 




praise, 


Through many amaze the winning 


The notes melodious swell ; 


song 


Was none excelled in Arthur's 


In changeful passion led, 


days, 


Till bent at length the listening 


The knight of Lionelle. 


throng 




O'er Tristrem's dying bed. 


For Marke, his cowardly uncle's 




right, 


His ancient wounds their scars ex- 


A venomed wound he bore ; 


pand, 


When fierce Morholde he slew in 


With agony his heart is wrung : 


fight, 


where is Isolde's lilye hand, 


Upon the Irish shore. 


And where her soothing tongue ? 


No art the poison might with- 


She comes ! she comes ! — like flash 


stand ; 


of flame 


No medicine could be found, 


Can lovers' footsteps fly t 



THOMAS THE RHYMER • 



45 



She comes ! she corues ! —she only 
came 
To see her Tristrem die. 

She saw him die ; her latest sigh 
Joined in a kiss his parting 
breath ; 
The gentlest pair, that Britain 
bare, 
United are in death. 

There paused the harp: its lin- 
gering sound 

Died slowly on the ear ; 
The silent guests still bent around, 

For still they seemed to hear. 

Then woe broke forth in murmurs 
weak, 
Nor ladies heaved alone the 
sigh; 
But, half ashamed, the rugged 
cheek 
Did many a gauntlet dry. 

On Leader's stream, and Lear- 
mont's tower, 

The mists of evening close ; 
In camp, in castle, or in bower, 

Each warrior sought repose. 

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent, 
Dreamed o'er the wof ul tale ; 

When footsteps light, across the 
bent, 
The warrior's ear assail. 

He starts, he wakes ; — ' What 
Richard, ho ! 
Arise, my page, arise ! 
What venturous wight, at dead of 
night, 
Dare step where Douglas lies ! ' 

Then forth they rushed : by Lead- 
er's tide, 
A selcouth sight they see — 
A hart and hind pace side by 
side, 
As white as snow on Fairna- 
lie. 



Beneath the moon, with gesture 
proud, 
They stately move and slow ; 
Nor scare they at the gathering 
crowd, 
Who marvel as they go. 

To Learmont's tower a message 
sped, 

As fast as page might run ; 
And Thomas started from his bed, 

And soon his clothes did on. 

First he woxe pale, and then woxe 
red; 
Never a word he spake but 
three ; — 
'My sand is run; my thread is 
spun ; 
This sign regardeth me.' 

The elfin harp his neck around, 
In minstrel guise he hung ; 

And on the wind, in doleful sound, 
Its dying accents rung. 

Then forth he went; yet turned 
him oft 

To view his ancient hall : 
On the grey tower, in lustre soft, 

The autumn moonbeams fall ; 

And Leader's waves, like silver 
sheen, 
Danced shimmering in the ray ; 
In deepening mass, at distance 
seen, 
Broad Soltra's mountains lay. 

'Farewell, my father's ancient 
tower ! 
A long farewell,' said he : 
4 The scene of pleasure, pomp, or 
power, 
Thou never more shalt be. 

' To Learmont's name no foot of 
earth 

Shall here again belong, 
And, on thy hospitable hearth, 

The hare shall leave her young. 



4 6 



EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS 



4 Adieu ! adieu ! ■ again he cried, 
All as he turned him roun' — 

4 Farewell to Leader's silver tide ! 
Farewell to Ercildoune ! ' 

The hart and hind approached the 
place, 
As lingering yet he stood ; 
And there, before Lord Douglas' 
face, 
With them he crossed the flood. 

Lord Douglas leaped on his berry- 
brown steed, 
And spurred him the Leader 
o'er ; 
But, though he rode with lightning 
speed, 
He never saw them more. 

Some said to hill, and some to 
glen, 
Their wondrous course had 
been ; 
But ne'er in haunts of living men 
Again was Thomas seen. 



THE BARD'S INCANTATION 

WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT 
OF INVASION IN THE AUTUMN 
OF 1804. 

The forest of Glenmore is drear, 
It is all of black pine and the 
dark oak-tree ; 

And the midnight wind to the 
mountain deer 
Is whistling the forest lullaby : 

The moon looks through the drift- 
ing storm, 

But the troubled lake reflects not 
her form, 

For the waves roll whitening to 
the land, 

And dash against the shelvy strand. 

There is a voice among the trees 
That mingles with the groaning 
oak— 



That mingles with the stormy 

breeze, 
And the lake- waves dashing 

against the rock ; — 
There is a voice within the wood, 
The voice of the bard in fitful 

mood ; 
His song was louder than the 

blast, 
As the bard of Glenmore through 

the forest past. 

'Wake ye from your sleep of 

death, 
Minstrels and bards of other 

days! 
For the midnight wind is on the 

heath, 
And the midnight meteors 

dimly blaze : 
The Spectre with his Bloody 

Hand 
Is wandering through the wild 

woodland ; 
The owl and the raven are mute 

for dread, 
And the time is meet tc awake 

the dead ! 

4 Souls of the mighty, wake and 
say 
To what high strain your 
harps were strung, 

When Lochlin ploughed her bil- 
lowy way 
And on your shores her Norse- 
men flung ? 

Her Norsemen trained to spoil 
and blood, 

Skilled to prepare the raven's 
food, 

All by your harpings doomed to 
die 

On bloody Largs and Loncarty. 

4 Mute are ye all ? No murmurs 
strange 
Upon the midnight breeze sail 

by, 
Nor through the pines with 
whistling change 



HELLVELLYN 



47 



Mimic the harp's wild har- 
mony! 

Mute are ye now? — Ye ne'er 
were mute 

When Murder with his bloody 
foot, 

And Rapine with his iron hand, 

Were hovering near yon moun- 
tain strand. 

4 O, yet awake the strain to tell, 
By every deed in song enrolled, 

By every chief who fought or fell, 
For Albion's weal in battle 
bold: — 

From Coilgach, first who rolled 
his car 

Through the deep ranks of Ro- 
man war, 

To him of veteran memory dear 

Who victor died on Aboukir. 

' By all their swords, by all their 

scars, 
By all their names, a mighty 

spell ! 
By all their wounds, by all their 

wars, 
Arise, the mighty strain to tell ! 
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's 

strain, 
More impious than the heathen 

Dane, 
More grasping than all-grasping 

Rome, 
Gaul's ravening legions hither 

come ! ' 

The wind is hushed and still the 

lake — 

Strange murmurs fill my tinkling 

ears, 

Bristles my hair, my sinews quake, 

At the dread voice of other 

years — 
'When targets clashed and bu- 
gles rung, 
And blades round warriors' 

heads were flung, 
The foremost of the band were 
we 
And hymned the joys of Liberty ! ' 



HELLVELLYN 

I climbed the dark brow of the 

mighty Hellvellyn, 
Lakes and mountains beneath 

me gleamed misty and wide ; 
All was still save by fits, when the 

eagle was yelling, 
And starting around me the 

echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round 

the Red-tarn was bending, 
And Catchedicam its left verge 

was defending, 
One huge nameless rock in the 

front was ascending, 
When I marked the sad spot 

where the wanderer had died. 

Dark green was that spot mid the 

brown mountain heather, 
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay 

stretched in decay, 
Like the corpse of an outcast 

abandoned to weather 
Till the mountain-winds wasted 

the tenantless clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though 

lonely extended, 
For, faithful in death, his mute 

favorite attended, 
The much-loved remains of her 

master defended, 
And chased the hill-fox and the 

raven away. 

How long didst thou think that his 
silence was slumber ? 
When the wind waved his gar- 
ment, how oft didst thou 
start? 

How many long days and long 
weeks didst thou number, 
Ere he faded before thee, the 
friend of thy heart? 

And O, was it meet that — no 
requiem read o'er him, 

No mother to weep and no friend 
to deplore him, 

And thou, little guardian, alone 
stretched before him — 
Unhonored the Pilgrim from life 
should depart? 



4 8 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



When a prince to the fate of the 
peasant has yielded, 
The tapestry waves dark round 
the dim-lighted hall ; 

With scutcheons of silver the coffin 
is shielded, 
And pages stand mute by the 
canopied pall : 

Through the courts at deep mid- 
night the torches are gleam- 
ing; 

In the proudly arched chapel the 
banners are beaming ; 

Far adown the long aisle sacred 
music is streaming, 
Lamenting a chief of the people 
should fall. 



But meeter for thee, gentle lover 

of nature, 
To lay down thy head like the 

meek mountain lamb, 
When wildered he drops from some 

cliff huge in stature, 
And draws his last sob by the 

side of his dam. 
And more stately thy couch by 

this desert lake lying, 
Thy obsequies sung by the gray 

plover flying, 
With one faithful friend but to 

witness thy dying 
In the arms of Hellvellyn and 

Catchedicam. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



INTRODUCTION 

The way was long, the wind was 

cold, 
The Minstrel was infirm and old ; 
His withered cheek and tresses 

gray 
Seemed to have known a better 

day; 
The harp, his sole remaining joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy. 
The last of all the bards was he, 
Who sung of Border chivalry ; 
For, well-a-day! their date was 

fled, 
His tuneful brethren all were 

dead; 10 

And he, neglected and oppressed, 
Wished to be with them and at 

rest. 
No more on prancing palfrey 

borne 
He carolled, light as lark at morn ; 
No longer courted and caressed, 
High placed in hall, a welcome 

guest, 
He poured, to lord and lady gay, 
The unpremeditated lay : 



Old times were changed, old man- 

ners gone ; 
A stranger filled the Stuarts' 

throne ; 20 

The bigots of the iron time 
Had called his harmless art a 

crime. 
A wandering harper, scorned and 

poor, 
He begged his bread from door to 

door, 
And tuned, to please a peasant's 

ear, 
The harp a king had loved to hear. 

He passed where Newark's stately 

tower 
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen 

bower : 
The Minstrel gazed with wishful 

eye — 
No humbler resting-place was 

nigh. 30 

With hesitating step at last 
The embattled portal arch he 

passed, 
Whose ponderous grate and massy 

bar 



INTRODUCTION 



49 



Had oft rolled back the tide of 

war, 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
The Duchess marked his weary 

pace, 
His timid mien, and reverend face, 
And bade her page the menials 

tell 
That they should tend the old man 

well : 40 

For she had known adversity, 
Though born in such a high de- 
gree; 
In pride of power, in beauty's 

bloom, 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody 

tomb! 

When kindness had his wants sup- 
plied, 
And the old man was gratified, 
Began to rise his minstrel pride ; 
And he began to talk anon 
Of good Earl Francis, dead and 

gone, 
And of Earl Walter, rest him 

God! 50 

A braver ne'er to battle rode ; 
And how full many a tale he 

knew 
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch : 
And, would the noble Duchess 

deign 
To listen to an old man's strain, 
Though stiff his hand, his voice 

though weak, 
He thought even yet, the sooth to 

speak, 
That, if she loved the harp to hear, 
He could make music to her ear. 

The humble boon was soon ob- 
tained ; 60 

The aged Minstrel audience 
gained. 

But when he reached the room of 
state 

Where she with all her ladies sate, 

Perchance he wished his boon de- 
nied: 



For, when to tune his harp he 

tried, 
His trembling hand had lost the 

ease 
Which marks security to please ; 
And scenes, long past, of joy and 

pain 
Came wildering o'er his aged 

brain — 69 

He tried to tune his harp in vain. 
The pitying Duchess praised its 

chime, 
And gave him heart, and gave him 

time, 
Till every string's according glee 
Was blended into harmony. 
And then, he said, he would full 

fain 
He could recall an ancient strain 
He never thought to sing again. 
It was not framed for village 

churls, 
But for high dames and mighty 

earls ; 
He had played it to King Charles 

the Good 80 

When he kept court in Holyrood ; 
And much he wished, yet feared, 

to try 
The long-forgotten melody. 
Amid the strings his fingers 

strayed, 
And an uncertain warbling made, 
And oft he shook his hoary head. 
But when he caught the measure 

wild, 
The old man raised his face and 

smiled ; 
And lightened up his faded eye 
With all a poet's ecstasy ! 90 

In varying cadence, soft or strong, 
He swept the sounding chords 

along : 
The present scene, the future 

lot, 
His toils, his wants, were all for- 
got; 
Cold diffidence and age's frost 
In the full tide of song were lost ; 
Each blank, in faithless memory 

void, 



5° 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 






The poet's glowing thought sup- 
plied ; 

And, while his harp responsive 
rung, 

'T was thus the Latest Min- 
strel sung. 

CANTO FIRST 



The feast was over in Branksome 

tower, 
And the Ladye had gone to her 

secret bower, 
Her bower that was guarded by 

word and by spell, 
Deadly to hear, and deadly to 

tell — 
Jesu Maria, shield us well ! 
No living wight, save the Ladye 

alone, 
Had dared to cross the threshold 

stone. 

ii 

The tables were drawn, it was 
idlesse all ; 
Knight and page and household 
squire 
Loitered through the lofty hall, 10 
Or crowded round the ample 
fire: 
The stag-hounds, weary with the 
chase, 
Lay stretched upon the rushy 
floor, 
And urged in dreams the forest 
race, 
From Teviot-stone to Eskdale- 
moor. 

in 

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 
Hung their shields in Brank- 
some Hall ; 
Nine-and-twenty squires of name 
Brought them their steeds to 
bower from stall ; 19 

Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall 
Waited duteous on them all : 



They were all knights of mettle 

true, 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 

IV 

Ten of them were sheathed in 

steel, 
With belted sword and spur on 

heel; 
They quitted not their harness 

bright, 
Neither by day nor yet by night : 
They lay down to rest, 
With corselet laced. 
Pillowed on buckler cold and 
hard ; 30 

They carved at the meal 
With gloves of steel, 
And they drank the red wine 
through the helmet barred. 



Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad 
men, 

Waited the beck of the warders 
ten; 

Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight, 

Stood saddled in stable day and 
night, 

Barded with frontlet of steel, I 
trow, 

And with Jedwood-axe at saddle- 
bow; 

A hundred more fed free in 
stall : — 40 

Such was the custom of Brank- 
some Hall. 

VI 

Why do these steeds stand ready 
dight? 

Why watch these warriors armed 
by night? 

They watch to hear the blood- 
hound baying ; 

They watch to hear the war-horn 
braying ; 

To see Saint George's red cross 
streaming, 

To see the midnight beacon gleam- 
ing; 



CANTO FIRST 



They watch against Southern force 
and guile, 
Lest Scroop or Howard or Per- 
cy's powers 
Threaten Branksome's lordly 
towers, 50 

From Warkworth or Naworth or 
merry Carlisle. 

VII 

Such is the custom of Branksome 

Hall. 
Many a valiant knight is here : 
But he, the chieftain of them all, 
His sword hangs rusting on the 

wall 
Beside his broken spear. 
Bards long shall tell 
How Lord Walter fell ! 
When startled burghers fled afar 
The furies of the Border war, 60 
When the streets of high Dunedin 
Saw lances gleam and falchions 

redden, 
And heard the slogan's deadly 

yell,- 
Then the Chief of Branksome fell. 

VIII 

Can piety the discord heal, 
Or stanch the death-feud's en- 
mity? 
Can Christian lore, can patriot 
zeal, 
Can love of blessed charity ? 
No ! vainly to each holy shrine 69 
In mutual pilgrimage they drew, 
Implored in vain the grace divine 
For chiefs their own red falchions 
slew. 
While Cessford owns the rule of 
Carr, 
While Ettrick boasts the line of 
Scott, 
The slaughtered chiefs, the mortal 

jar, 
The havoc of the feudal war, 
Shall never, never be forgot ! 

IX 

In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier 
The warlike foresters had bent, 



And many a flower and many a 

tear 80 

Old Teviot's maids and matrons 

lent: 

But o'er her warrior's bloody bier 

The Ladye dropped nor flower nor 

tear ! 
Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the 
slain, 
Had locked the source of softer 
woe, 
And burning pride and high disdain 
Forbade the rising tear to flow ; 
Until, amid his sorrowing clan, 
Her son lisped from the nurse's 
knee, 
1 And if I live" to be a man, 90 

My father's death revenged shall 
be!' 
Then fast the mother's tears did 

seek 
To dew the infant's kindling cheek. 



All loose her negligent attire, 

All loose her golden hair, 
Hung Margaret o'er her slaugh- 
tered sire 

And wept in wild despair. 
But not alone the bitter tear 

Had filial grief supplied, 99 

For hopeless love and anxious fear 

Had lent their mingled tide ; 
Nor in her mother's altered eye 
Dared she to look for sympathy. 
Her lover 'gainst her father's clan 

With Carr in arms had stood, 
When Mathouse-burn to Melrose 
ran 

All purple with their blood ; 
And well she knew her mother 

dread, 
Before Lord Cranstoun she should 
wed, 109 

Would see her on her dying bed. 

XI 

Of noble race the Ladye came ; 
Her father was a clerk of fame 
Of Bethune's line of Picardie : 
He learned the art that none may 
name 



52 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 






In Padua, far beyond the sea. 
Men said he changed his mortal 
frame 
By feat of magic mystery ; 
For when in studious mood he 
paced 
Saint Andrew's cloistered hall, 
His form no darkening shadow 
traced 120 

Upon the sunny wall ! 

XII 

And of his skill, as bards avow, 

He taught that Ladye fair, 
Till to her bidding she could bow 

The viewless forms of air. 
And now she sits in secret bower, 
In old Lord David's western 

tower, 
And listens to a heavy sound 
That moans the mossy turrets 

round. 
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, 130 
That chafes against the scaur's 

red side ? 
Is it the wind, that swings the 

oaks? 
Is it the echo from the rocks ? 
What may it be, the heavy sound, 
That moans old Branksome's tur- 
rets round ? 

XIII 

At the sullen, moaning sound 

The ban-dogs bay and howl, 
And from the turrets round 

Loud whoops the startled owl. 
In the hall, both squire and knight 

Swore that a storm was near, 14 1 
And looked forth to view the 
night ; 

But the night was still and clear ! 

XIV 

From the sound of Teviot's tide, 
Chafing with the mountain's side, 
From the groan of the wind-swung 

oak, 
From the sullen echo of the rock, 
From the voice of the coming 

storm, 



The Ladye knew it well ! 
It was the Spirit of the Flood that 

spoke, 150 

And he called on the Spirit of 

the Fell. 

xv 

RIVER SPIRIT 

' Sleep 'st thou, brother ? ' 

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT 

• Brother, nay — 
On my hills the moonbeams play. 
From Craik-cross to Skelfhill-pen, 
By every rill, in every glen, 
Merry elves their morris pacing, 

To aerial minstrelsy, 

Emerald rings on brown heath 

tracing, 

Trip it deft and merrily. 159 

Up, and mark their nimble feet ! 

Up, and list their music sweet ! ' 

XVI 
RIVER SPIRIT 

' Tears of an imprisoned maiden 
Mix with my polluted stream ; 

Margaret of Branksome, sorrow- 
laden, 
Mourns beneath the moon's pale 
beam. 

Tell me, thou who view'st the stars, 

When shall cease these feudal 
jars? 

What shall be the maiden's fate ? 

Who shall be the maiden's mate ? ' 

XVII 
MOUNTAIN SPIRIT 

'Arthur's slow wain his course 
doth roll 170 

In utter darkness round the pole ; 

The Northern Bear lowers black 
and grim, 

Orion's studded belt is dim ; 

Twinkling faint, and distant far, 

Shimmers through mist each 
planet star ; 



CANTO FIRST 



S3 



111 may I read their high decree : 
But no kind influence deign they 

shower 
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's 
tower 
Till pride be quelled and love be 
free.' 

XVIII 

The unearthly voices ceased, 180 

And the heavy sound was still ; 
It died on the river's breast, 

It died on the side of the hill. 
But round Lord David's tower 

The sound still floated near; 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower, 

And it rung in the Ladye's ear. 
She raised her stately head, 

And her heart throbbed high 
with pride : 
1 Your mountains shall bend 190 
And your streams ascend, 

Ere Margaret be our foeman's 
bride ! ' 

XIX 

The Ladye sought the lofty hall, 

Where many a bold retainer lay, 
And with jocund din among them 
all 
Her son pursued his infant play. 
A fancied moss-trooper, the boy 
The truncheon of a spear be- 
strode, 
And round the hall right merrily 

In mimic foray rode. 200 

Even bearded knights, in arms 
grown old, 
Share in his frolic gambols bore, 
Albeit their hearts of rugged mould 
Were stubborn as the steel they 
wore. 
For the gray warriors prophesied 
How the brave boy in future 
war 
Should tame the Unicorn's pride, 
Exalt the Crescents and the Star. 

xx 

The Ladye forgot her purpose high 
One moment and no more, 210 



One moment gazed with a mother's 

eye 
As she paused at the arched 

door; 
Then from amid the armed train 
She called to her William of 

Deloraine. 

XXI 

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he 
As e'er couched Border lance by 

knee : 
Through Solway Sands, through 

Tarras Moss, 
Blindfold he knew the paths to 

cross ; 
By wily turns, by desperate bounds, 
Had baffled Percy's best blood- 
hounds ; 220 
In Eske or Liddel fords were none 
But he would ride them, one by 

one; 
Alike to him was time or tide, 
December's snow or July's pride; 
Alike to him was tide or time, 
Moonless midnight or matin prime : 
Steady of heart and stout of hand 
As ever drove prey from Cumber- 

land; 
Five times outlawed had he been 
By England's king and Scotland's 

queen. 230 

XXII 

1 Sir William of Deloraine, good at 

need, 
Mount thee on the wightest steed ; 
Spare not to spur nor stint to ride 
Until thou come to fair Tweedside ; 
And in Melrose's holy pile 
Seek thou the Monk of Saint Mary's 

aisle. 
Greet the father well from me ; 

Say that the fated hour is come, 
And to-night he shall watch with 

thee, 239 

To win the treasure of the tomb : 

For this will be Saint Michael's 

night, 
And though stars be dim the moon 

is bright, 



$4 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



And the cross of bloody red 
Will point to the grave of the 
mighty dead. 

XXIII 

'What he gives thee, see thou 

keep; 
Stay not thou for food or sleep : 
Be it scroll or be it book, 
Into it, knight, thou must not look ; 
If thou readest, thou art lorn ! 249 
Better hadst thou ne'er been born! ' 

XXIV 

* O swiftly can speed my dapple- 
gray steed, 
Which drinks of the Teviot clear; 
Ere break of day,' the warrior gan 
say, 
* Again will I be here : 
And safer by none may thy errand 
be done 
Than, noble dame, by me ; 
Letter nor line know I never one, 
Were 't my neck-verse at Hairi- 
bee.' 

xxv 

Soon in his saddle sate he fast, 

And soon the steep descent he 
passed, 260 

Soon crossed the sounding barbi- 
can, 

And soon the Teviot side he won. 

Eastward the wooded path he rode, 

Green hazels o'er his basnet nod ; 

He passed the Peel of Goldiland, 

And crossed old Borthwick's roar- 
ing strand ; 

Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill's 
mound, 

Where Druid shades still flitted 
round : 

In Hawick twinkled many a light ; 

Behind him soon they set in night ; 

And soon he spurred his courser 
keen 271 

Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. 

xxvi 

The clattering hoofs the watchmen 
mark: 



'Stand, ho! thou courier of the 

dark.' 
* For Branksome, ho ! > the knight 

rejoined, 
And left the friendly tower behind. 
He turned him now from Teviot- 

side, 
And, guided by the tinkling rill, 
Northward the dark ascent did 

ride, 
And gained the moor at Horse- 

liehill ; 280 

Broad on the left before him lay 
For many a mile the Roman way. 

xxvii 
A moment now he slacked his 

speed, 
A moment breathed his panting 

steed, 
Drew saddle-girth and corslet- 
band, 
And loosened in the sheath his 

brand. 
On Minto-crags the moonbeams 

glint, 
Where Barnhill hewed his bed of 

flint, 
Who flung his outlawed limbs to 

rest 
Where falcons hang their giddy 

nest 290 

Mid cliffs from whence his eagle 

eye 
For many a league his prey could 

spy; 
Cliffs doubling, on their echoes 

borne, 
The terrors of the robber's horn ; 
Cliffs which for many a later year 
The warbling Doric reed shall hear, 
When some sad swain shall teach 

the grove 
Ambition is no cure for love. 

xxviii 
Unchallenged, thence passed Delo- 
raine 299 

To ancient Riddel's fair domain, 
Where Aill, from mountains 
freed, 



CANTO FIRST 



55 



Down from the lakes did raving 

come; 
Each wave was crested with tawny 

foam, 
Like the mane of a chestnut 

steed. 
In vain ! no torrent, deep or broad, 
Might bar the bold moss-trooper's 

road. 

XXIX 

At the first plunge the horse sunk 
low, 

And the water broke o'er the sad- 
dle-bow : 

Above the foaming tide, I ween, 

Scarce half the charger's neck was 
seen; 310 

For he was barded from counter 
to tail, 

And the rider was armed complete 
in mail ; 

Never heavier man and horse 

Stemmed a midnight torrent's 
force. 

The warrior's very plume, I say, 

Was daggled by the dashing 
spray ; 

Yet, through good heart and Our 
Ladye's grace, 

At length he gained the landing- 
place. 

XXX 

Now Bowden Moor the march-man 

won, 
And sternly shook his plumed 

head, 320 

As glanced his eye o'er Halidon ; 
For on his soul the slaughter 

red 
Of that unhallowed morn arose, 
When first the Scott and Carr 

were foes ; 
When royal James beheld the 

fray, 
Prize to the victor of the day ; 
When Home and Douglas in the 

van 
Bore down Buccleuch's retiring 

clan, 



Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood 

dear 
Keeked on dark Elliot's Border 

spear. 330 

XXXI 

In bitter mood he spurred fast, 
And soon the hated heath was 

past; 
And far beneath, in lustre wan, 
Old Melros' rose and fair Tweed 

ran: 
Like some tall rock with lichens 

gray, 
Seemed, dimly huge, the dark Ab- 

baye. 
When Hawick he passed had cur- 

few rung, 
Now midnight lauds were in Mel- 
rose sung. 
The sound upon the fitful gale 
In solemn wise did rise and fail, 340 
Like that wild harp whose magic 

tone 
Is wakened by the winds alone.' 
But when Melrose he reached 

't was silence all ; 
He meetly stabled his steed in 

stall, 
And sought the convent's lonely 

wall. 



Here paused the harp ; and with 

its swell 
The Master's fire and courage 

fell : 
Dejectedly and low he bowed, 
And, gazing timid on the crowd, 
He seemed to seek in every eye 350 
If they approved his minstrelsy ; 
And, diffident of present praise, 
Somewhat he spoke of former 

days, 
And how old age and wandering 

long 
Had done his hand and harp some 

wrong. 
The Duchess, and her daughters 

fair, 
And every gentle lady there, 



56 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Each after each, in due degree, 

Gave praises to his melody ; 

His hand was true, his voice was 

clear, 360 

And much they longed the rest to 

hear. 
Encouraged thus, the aged man 
After meet rest again began. 



CANTO SECOND 



If thou wouldst view fair Melrose 

aright, 
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
For the gay beams of lightsome 

day 
Gild but to flout the ruins gray. 
When the broken arches are black 

in night, 
And each shafted oriel glimmers 

white ; 
When the cold light's uncertain 

shower 
Streams on the ruined central 

tower ; 
When buttress and buttress, alter- 
nately, 
Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 10 
When silver edges the imagery, 
And the scrolls that teach thee to 

live and die ; 
When distant Tweed is heard to 

rave, 
And the owlet to hoot o'er the 

dead man's grave, 
Then go — but go alone the while — 
Then view Saint David's ruined 

pile; 
And, home returning, soothly 

swear 
Was never scene so sad and fair ! 

11 

Short halt did Deloraine make 

there ; 
Little recked he of the scene so 

fair : 20 

With dagger's hilt on the wicket 

strong 



He struck full loud, and struck 

full long. 
The porter hurried to the gate : 
1 Who knocks so loud, and knocks 

so late ? ' 
1 From Branksome I,' the warrior 

cried ; 
And straight the wicket opened 

wide: 
For Branksome's chiefs had in 

battle stood 
To fence the rights of fair Mel- 
rose; 
And lands and livings, many a 

rood, 
Had gifted the shrine for their 

souls' repose. 30 

in 

Bold Deloraine his errand said ; 

The porter bent his humble head ; 

With torch in hand, and feet un- 
shod, 

And noiseless step, the path he 
trod: 

The arched cloister, far and wide, 

Rang to the warrior's clanking 
stride, 

Till, stooping low his lofty crest, 

He entered the cell of the ancient 
priest, 

And lifted his barred aventayle 

To hail the Monk of Saint Mary's 
aisle. 40 

IV 

' The Ladye of Branksome greets 
thee by me, 
Says that the fated hour is 
come, 
And that to-night I shall watch 
with thee, 
To win the treasure of the tomb.' 
From sackcloth couch the monk 
arose, 
With toil his stiffened limbs he 
reared ; 
A hundred years had flung their 
snows 
On his thin locks and floating 
beard. 



CANTO SECOND 



57 



And strangely on the knight looked 
he, 
And his blue eyes gleamed wild 
and wide : 50 

1 And darest thou, warrior, seek to 
see 
What heaven and hell alike 
would hide ? 
My breast in belt of iron pent, 
With shirt of hair and scourge of 
thorn, 
For threescore years, in penance 
spent, 
My knees those flinty stones 
have worn ; 
Yet all too little to atone 
For knowing what should ne'er be 

known. 

Wouldst thou thy every future year 

In ceaseless prayer and penance 

drie, 60 

Yet wait thy latter end with fear — 

Then, daring warrior, follow 

me!' 

VI 

1 Penance, father, will I none ; 

Prayer know I hardly one ; 

For mass or prayer can I rarely 

tarry, 
Save to patter an Ave Mary, 
When I ride on a Border foray. 
Other prayer can I none ; 
So speed me my errand, and let me 

be gone.' 

VII 

Again on the knight looked the 

churchman old, 70 

And again he sighed heavily ; 
For he had himself been a warrior 

bold, 
And fought in Spain and Italy. 
And he thought on the days that 

were long since by, 
When his limbs were strong and 

his courage was high : 
Now, slow and faint, he led the 

way 
Where,cloistered round,the garden 

lay; 



The pillared arches were over their 

head, 
And beneath their feet were the 

bones of the dead. 

VIII 

Spreading herbs and flowerets 

bright 80 

Glistened with the dew of night ; 
Nor herb nor floweret glistened 

there 
But was carved in the cloister. 

arches as fair. 
The monk gazed long on the lovely 

moon, 
Then into the night he looked 

forth ; 
And red and bright the streamers 

light 
Were dancing in the glowing 

north. 
So had he seen, in fair Castile, 
The youth in glittering squad- 
rons start, 
Sudden the flying jennet wheel, 90 

And hurl the unexpected dart. 
He knew, by the streamers that 

shot so bright, 
That spirits were riding the north- 

ern light. 

IX 

By a steel-clenched postern door 
They entered now the chancel 

tall; 
The darkened roof rose high 

aloof 
On pillars lofty and light and 

small : 
The keystone that locked each 

ribbed aisle 
Was a fleur-de-lys or a quatre- 

feuille ; 
The corbels were carved grotesque 

and grim : 100 

And the pillars, with clustered 

shafts so trim, 
With base and with capital flour- 
ished around, 
Seemed bundles of lances which 

garlands had bound. 



5» 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



X 


And fought beneath the Cross of 


Full many a scutcheon and banner 


God: 


riven 


Now, strange to my eyes thine 


Shook to the cold night-wind of 


arms appear, 


heaven, 


And their iron clang sounds 


Around the screened altar's 


strange to my ear. 


pale; 




And there the dying lamps did burn 


XIII 


Before thy low and lonely urn, 


1 In these far climes it Iwas my 


gallant Chief of Otterbume ! 


lot 


And thine, dark Knight of Lid- 


To meet the wondrous Michael 


desdale ! no 


Scott ; 


fading honors of the dead ! 


A wizard of such dreaded fame 


high ambition lowly laid ! 


That when, in Salamanca's cave, 




Him listed his magic wand to 


XI 


wave, 141 


The moon on the east oriel shone 


The bells would ring in Notre 


Through slender shafts of shapely 


Dame! 


stone, 


Some of his skill he taught to 


By foliage d tracery combined ; 


me; 


Thou wouldst have thought some 


And, warrior, I could say to thee 


fairy's hand 


The words that cleft Eildon Hills 


'Twixt poplars straight the osier 


in three, 


wand 


And bridled the Tweed with a 


In many a freakish knot had 


curb of stone : 


twined, 


But to speak them were a deadly 


Then framed a spell when the work 


sin, 


was done, 


And for having but thought them 


And changed the willow wreaths 


my heart within 


to stone. 120 


A treble penance must be done. 


The silver light, so pale and faint, 




Showed many a prophet and many 


XIV 


a saint, 


'When Michael lay on his dying 


Whose image on the glass was 


bed, 150 


dyed; 


His conscience was awakened ; 


Full in the midst, his cross of red 


He bethought him of his sinful 


Triumphant Michael brandished, 


deed, 


And trampled the Apostate's pride. 


And he gave me a sign to come 


The moonbeam kissed the holy 


with speed : 


pane, 


I was in Spain when the morning 


And threw on the pavement a 


rose, 


bloody stain. 


But I stood by his bed ere evening 




close. 


XII 


The words may not again be 


They sate them down on a marble 


said 


stone — 129 


That he spoke to me, on death-bed 


A Scottish monarch slept below ; 


laid; 


Thus spoke the monk in solemn 


They would rend this Abbaye's 


tone : 


massy nave, 


* I was not always a man of woe ; 


And pile it in heaps above his 


For Paynim countries I have trod, 


grave. 159 



CANTO SECOND 



59 



xv 

* I swore to bury his Mighty Book, 
That never mortal might therein 

look; 
And never to tell where it was hid, 
Save at his Chief of Branksome's 

need; 
And when that need was past and 

o'er, 
Again the volume to restore. 
I buried him on Saint Michael's 

night, 
When the bell tolled one and the 

moon was bright, 
And I dug his chamber among the 

dead, 
When the floor of the chancel was 

stained red, 
That his patron's cross might over 

him wave, 170 

And scare the fiends from the 

wizard's grave. 

XVI 

1 It was a night of woe and dread 
When Michael in the tomb I laid ; 
Strange sounds along the chancel 

passed, 
The banners waved* without a 

blast' — 
Still spoke the monk, when the 

bell tolled one ! — 
I tell you, that a braver man 
Than William of Deloraine, good 

at need, 
Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed ; 
Yet somewhat was he chilled with 

dread, 180 

And his hair did bristle upon his 

head. 

XVII 

• Lo, warrior ! now, the cross of red 
Points to the grave of the mighty 

dead: 
Within it burns a wondrous light, 
To chase the spirits that love the 

night ; 
That lamp shall burn unquench- 

ably, 
Until the eternal doom shall be.' 



Slow moved the monk to the broad 

flagstone 
Which the bloody cross was traced 

upon: 
He pointed to a secret nook; 190 
An iron bar the warrior took; 
And the monk made a sign with 

his withered hand, 
The grave's huge portal to expand. 

XVIII 

With beating heart to the task he 
went, 

His sinewy frame o'er the grave- 
stone bent, 

With bar of iron heaved amain 

Till the toil-drops fell from his 
brows like rain. 

It was by dint of passing strength 

That he moved the massy stone at 
length. 199 

I would you had been there to see 

How the light broke forth so glori- 
ously, 

Streamed upward to the chancel 
roof, 

And through the galleries far 
aloof ! 

Xo earthly flame blazed e'er so 
bright ; 

It shone like heaven's own blessed 
light, 
And, issuing from the tomb, 

Show r ed the monk's cowl and vis- 
age pale, 

Danced on the dark-browed war- 
rior's mail, 208 
And kissed his waving plume. 

XIX 

Before their eyes the wizard lay, 
As if he had not been dead a day. 
His hoary beard in silver rolled, 
He seemed some seventy winters 

old; 
A palmer's amice wrapped him 

round, 
With a wrought Spanish baldric 

bound, 
Like a pilgrim from beyond the 

sea: 



6o 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



His left hand held his Book of 


He thought, as he took it, the 


Might, 


dead man frowned ; 


A silver cross was in his. right ; 


But the glare of the sepulchral 


The lamp was placed beside his 


light 


knee. 219 


Perchance had dazzled the war- 


High and majestic was his look, 


rior's sight. 


At which the fellest fiends had 




shook, 


XXII 


And all unruffled was his face : 


When the huge stone sunk o'er 


They trusted his soul had gotten 


the tomb, 


grace. 


The night returned in double 




gloom, 


XX 


For the moon had gone down 


Often had "William of Deloraine 


and the stars were few ; 250 


Rode through the battle's bloody 


And as the knight and priest 


plain, 


withdrew, 


And trampled down the warriors 


With wavering steps and dizzy 


slain, 


brain, 


And neither known remorse nor 


They hardly might the postern 


awe, 


gain. 


Yet now remorse and awe he 


'T is said, as through the aisles 


owned ; 


they passed, 


His breath came thick, his head 


They heard strange noises on 


swam round, 


the blast ; 


When this strange scene of death 


And through the cloister - gal- 


he saw. 230 


leries small, 


Bewildered and unnerved he stood, 


Which at mid-height thread the 


And the priest prayed fervently 


chancel wall, 


and loud : 


Loud sobs, and laughter louder, 


With eyes averted prayed he ; 


ran, 


He might not endure the sight to 


And voices unlike the voice of 


see 


man, 


Of the man he had loved so bro- 


As if the fiends kept holiday 260 


therly. 


Because these spells were 




brought to day. 


XXI 


I cannot tell how the truth may 


And when the priest his death- 


be; 


prayer had prayed, 


I say the tale as 't was said to me. 


Thus unto Deloraine he said : 




4 Now, speed thee what thou hast 


XXIII 


to do, 


' Now, hie thee hence,' the father 


Or, warrior, we may dearly rue ; 


said, 


For those thou mayst not look 


'And when we are on death-bed 


upon 240 


laid, 


Are gathering fast round the yawn- 


may our dear Ladye and sweet 


ing stone ! ' 


Saint John 


Then Deloraine in terror took 


Forgive our souls for the deed we 


From the cold hand the Mighty 


have done ! ' 


Book, 


The monk returned him to his cell, 


With iron clasped and with iron 


And many a prayer and penance 


bound : 


sped ; 



CANTO SECOND 



61 



When the convent met at the noon- 
tide bell, 270 
The Monk of Saint Mary's aisle 
was dead » 

Before the cross was the body 
laid, 

With hands clasped fast, as if still 
he prayed. 

XXIV 

The knight breathed free in the 

morning wind, 
And strove his hardihood to find : 
He was glad when he passed the 

tombstones gray 
Which girdle round the fair Ab- 

baye ; 
For the mystic book, to his bosom 

pressed, 
Felt like a load upon his breast, 
And his joints, with nerves of iron 

twined, 280 

Shook like the aspen^eaves in 

wind. 
Full fain was he when the dawn of 

day 
Began to brighten Cheviot gray; 
He joyed to see the cheerful light, 
And he said Ave Mary as well as 

he might. 

XXV 

The sun had brightened Cheviot 
gray, 
The sun had brightened Carter's 
side; 
And soon beneath the rising day 
Smiled Branksome towers and 
Teviot's tide. 
The wild birds told their warbling 
tale, 290 

And wakened every flower that 
blows ; 
And peeped forth the violet pale, 
And spread her breast the moun- 
tain rose. 
And lovelier than the rose so 
red, 
Yet paler than the violet pale, 
She early left her sleepless bed, 
The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 



xxvi 

Why does fair Margaret so early 
awake, 
And don her kirtle so hastilie ; 
And the silken knots, which in 
hurry she would make, 300 
Why tremble her slender fingers 
to tie ? 
Why does she stop and look often 
around, 
As she glides down the secret 
stan ; 
And why does she pat the shaggy 
bloodhound, 
As he rouses him up from his 
lair ; 
And, though she passes the pos- 
tern alone, 
Why is not the watchman's bugle 
blown ? 

XXVII 

The ladye steps in doubt and 

dread. 
Lest her watchful mother hear her 

tread ; 
The ladye caresses the rough 

bloodhound 310 

Lest his voice should waken the 

castle round ; 
The watchman's bugle is not 

blown, 
For he was her foster-father's son ; 
And she glides through the green- 

wood at dawn of light 
To meet Baron Henry, her own 

true knight. 

XXVIII 

The knight and ladye fair are met, 
And under the hawthorn's boughs 

are set. 
A fairer pair were never seen 
To meet beneath the hawthorn 

green. 
He was stately and young and 

tall, 320' 

Dreaded in battle and loved in 

hall; 
And she, when love, scarce told, 

scarce hid, 



62 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Lent to her cheek a livelier red, 
When the half sigh her swelling 

breast 
Against the silken ribbon pressed, 
When her blue eyes their secret 

told, 
Though shaded by her locks of 

gold — 
Where would you find the peerless 

fair 
With Margaret of Branksome 

might compare ! 

XXIX 

And now, fair dames, methinks I 

see 330 

You listen to my minstrelsy ; 
Your waving locks ye backward 

throw, 
And sidelong bend your necks of 

snow. 
Ye ween to hear a melting tale 
Of two true lovers in a dale ; 
And how the knight, with tender 

fire, 
To paint his faithful passion 

strove, 
Swore he might at her feet expire, 
But never, never cease to love ; 
And how she blushed, and how 

she sighed, 340 

And, half consenting, half de- 
nied, 
And said that she would die a 

maid ; — 
Yet, might the bloody feud be 

stayed, 
Henry of Cranstoun, and only 

he, 
Margaret of Branksome' s choice 

should be. 

XXX 

Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are 
vain! 

My harp has lost the enchanting 
strain ; 
Its lightness would my age re- 
prove : 

My hairs are gray, my limbs are 
old, 



My heart is dead, my veins are 

cold: 350 

I may not, must not, sing of love. 

XXXI 

Beneath an oak mossed o'er by eld 
The Baron's dwarf his courser 

held, 
And held his crested helm and 

spear : 
That dwarf was scarce an earthly 

man, 
If the tales were true that of him 

ran 
Through all the Border far and 

near. 
'Twas said, when the Baron 

a-hunting rode 
Through Eeedsdale's glens, but 

rarely trod, 
He heard a voice cry, ' Lost ! lost ! 

lost ! ' 360 

And, like tennis-ball by racket 

tossed, 
A leap of thirty feet and three 
Made from the gorse this elfin 

shape, 
Distorted like some dwarfish ape, 
And lighted at LordCranstoun's 

knee. 
Lord Cranstoun was some whit 

dismayed ; 
'T is said that five good miles he 

rade, 
To rid him of his company ; 
But where he rode 'one mile, the 

dwarf ran four, 
And the dwarf was first at the 

castle door. 370 

XXXII 

Use lessens marvel, it is said : 
This elfish dwarf with the Baron 

staid ; 
Little he ate, and less he spoke, 
Nor mingled with the menial flock ; 
And oft apart his arms he tossed, 
And often muttered, ' Lost ! lost ! 

lost ! ' 
He was waspish, arch, and lither- 

lie, 



CANTO SECOND 



63 



But well Lord Cranstoun served 
he: 

And he of his service was full fain ; 

For once he had been ta'en or 
slain, 380 

An it had not been for his minis- 
try. 

All between Home and Hermitage 

Talked of Lord Cranstoun' s Gob- 
lin Page. 

XXXIII 

For the Baron went on pilgrimage, 
And took with him this elfish 

page, 
To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes ; 
For there, beside Our Ladye's 

lake, 
An offering he had sworn to make, 

And he would pay his vows. 
But the Ladye of Branksome gath- 
ered a band 390 
Of the best that would ride at her 

command ; 
The trysting-place was Newark 

Lee. 
Wat of Harden came thither 

amain, 
And thither came John of Thirle- 

stane, 
And thither came William of De- 

loraine ; 
They were three hundred spears 

and three. 
Through Douglas-burn, up Yarrow 

stream, 
Their horses prance, their lances 

gleam. 
They came to Saint Mary's lake 

ere day, 
But the chapel was void and the 

Baron away, 400 

They burned the chapel for very 

rage. 
And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Gob- 
lin Page. 

XXXIV 

And now, in Branksome' s good 

greenwood, 
As under the aged oak he stood, 



The Baron's courser pricks his 
ears, 

As if a distant noise he hears. 

The dwarf waves his long lean 
arm on high, 

And signs to the lovers to part and 
fly; 

No time was then to vow or sigh. 

Fair Margaret through the hazel- 
grove 410 

Flew like the startled cushat-dove : 

The dwarf the stirrup held and 
rein; 

Vaulted the knight on his steed 
amain, 

And, pondering deep that morn- 
ing's scene, 

Rode eastward through the haw- 
thorns green. 



While thus he poured the length- 
ened tale, 

The Minstrel's voice began to fail. 

Full slyly smiled the observant 
Page, 

And'gave the withered hand of age 

A goblet, crowned with mighty 
wine, 420 

The blood of Velez' scorched vine. 

He raised the silver cup on high, 

And, while the big drop filled his 
eye, 

Prayed God to bless the Duchess 
long, 

And all who cheered a son of song. 

The attending maidens smiled to 
see 

How long, how deep, how zeal- 
ously, 

The precious juice the Minstrel 
quaffed ; 

And he, emboldened by the 
draught, 

Looked gayly back to them and 
laughed. 430 

The cordial nectar of the bowl 

Swelled his old veins and cheered 
his soul ; 

A lighter, livelier prelude ran, 

Ere thus his tale again began. 



6 4 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



CANTO THIRD 



And said I that my limbs were old, 
And said I that my blood was 

cold, 
And that my kindly fire was fled, 
And my poor withered heart was 

dead, 
And that I might not sing of 

love?— 
How could I to the dearest theme 
That ever warmed a minstrel's 

dream, 
So foul, so false a recreant 

prove ? 
How could I name love's very 

name, 
Nor wake my heart to notes of 

flame ? , 10 

ii 

In peace, Love tunes the shep- 
herd's reed ; 

In war, he mounts the warrior's 
steed ; 

In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 

In hamlets, dances on the green. 

Love rules the court, the camp, 
the grove, 

And men below, and saints above ; 

For love is heaven, and heaven is 
love. 

in 
So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I 

ween, 
While, pondering deep the tender 

scene, 
He rode through Branksome's 

hawthorn green. 20 

But the page shouted wild and 

shrill, 
And scarce his helmet could he 

don, 
When downward from the shady 

hill 
A stately knight came pricking 

on. 
That warrior's steed, so dapple- 
gray, 



Was dark with sweat and splashed 

with clay, 

His armor red with many a 

stain : 

He seemed in such a weary plight, 

As if he had ridden the livelong 

night ; 29 

For it was William of Deloraine. 

IV 

But no whit weary did he seem, 

When, dancing in the sunny beam, 

He marked the crane on the Bar- 
on's crest ; 

For his ready spear was in his 
rest. 

Few were the words, and stern 
and high, 
That marked the foemen's feud- 
al hate ; 

For question fierce and proud re- 
ply 
Gave signal soon of dire debate. 

Their very coursers seemed to 
know 

That each was other's mortal 
foe, 40 

And snorted fire when wheeled 
around 

To give each knight his vantage- 
ground. 



In rapid round the Baron bent ; 
He sighed a sigh and prayed a 

prayer ; 
The prayer was to his patron 

saint, 
The sigh was to his ladye fair. 
Stout Deloraine nor sighed nor 

prayed, 
Nor saint nor ladye called to 

aid; 
But he stooped his head, and 

couched his spear, 
And spurred his steed to full ca- 
reer. 50 
The meeting of these champions 

proud 
Seemed like the bursting thunder- 

cloud. 



CANTO THIRD 



65 



VI 

Stern was the dint the Borderer 

lent! 
The stately Baron backwards 

bent, 
Bent backwards to his horse's tail, 
And his plumes went scattering 

on the gale ; 
The tough ash spear, so stout and 

true, 
Into a thousand flinders flew. 
But Cranstoun's lance, of more 

avail, 
Pierced through, like silk, the 

Borderer's mail ; 60 

Through shield and jack and acton 

passed, 
Deep in his bosom broke at last. 
Still sate the warrior saddle-fast, 
Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, 
Down went the steed, the girthing 

broke, 
Hurled on a heap lay man and 

horse. 
The Baron onward passed his 

course, 
Nor knew — so giddy rolled his 

brain — 
His foe lay stretched upon the 

plain. 

VII 

But when he reined his courser 
round, 70 

And saw his f oeman on the ground 
Lie senseless as the bloody clay, 
He bade his page to stanch the 
wound, 
And there beside the warrior 
stay, 
And tend him in his doubtful state, 
And lead him to Branksome castle- 
gate : 
His noble mind was inly moved 
For the kinsman of the maid he 

loved. 
1 This shalt thou do without delay : 
No longer here myself may stay ; 
Unless the swifter I speed away, 
Short shrift will be at my dying 
day.' 82 



VIII 

Away in speed Lord Cranstoun 

rode; 
The Goblin Page behind abode ; 
His lord's command he ne'er with- 

stood, 
Though small his pleasure to do 

good. 
As the corselet off he took, 
The dwarf espied the Mighty 

Book! 
Much he marvelled a knight of 

pride 
Like a book=bosomed priest should 

ride ; 9° 

He thought not to search or stanch 

the wound 
Until the secret he had found. 

IX 

The iron band, the iron clasp, 
Resisted long the elfin grasp ; 
For when the first he had undone, 
It closed as he the next begun. 
Those iron clasps, that iron band, 
Would not yield to unchristened 

hand 
Till he smeared the cover o'er 99 
With the Borderer's curdled gore ; 
A moment then the volume spread, 
And one short spell therein he 

read. 
It had much of glamour might, 
Could make a ladye seem a knight, 
The cobwebs on a dungeon wall 
Seem tapestry in lordly hall, 
A nutshell seem a gilded barge, 
A sheeling seem a palace large, 
And youth seem age, and age 

seem youth — 
All was delusion, nought was 

truth*. no 

x 

He had not read another spell, 
When on his cheek a buffet fell, 
So fierce, it stretched him on the 

plain 
Beside the wounded Deloraine. 
From the ground he rose dismayed, 
And shook his huge and matted 

head; 



66 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



One word he muttered and no more, 
4 Man of age, thou smitest sore ! ' 
No more the elfin page durst try 
Into the wondrous book to pry ; 
The clasps, though smeared with 
Christian gore, 121 

Shut faster than they were be- 
fore. 
He hid it underneath his cloak. — 
Now, if you ask who gave the 

stroke, 
I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 
It was not given by man alive. 

xi 

Unwillingly himself he addressed 
To do his master's high behest : 
He lifted up the living corse, 129 
And laid it on the weary horse ; 
He led him into Branksome Hall 
Before the beards of the warders 

all, 
And each did after swear and say 
There only passed a wain of hay. 
He took him to Lord David's 

tower, 
Even to the Ladye's secret bow- 
er; 
And, but that stronger spells were 

spread, 
And the door might not be opened, 
He had laid him on her very bed. 
Whate'er he did of gramarye 140 
Was always done maliciously; 
He flung the warrior on the ground, 
And the blood welled freshly from 
the wound. 

XII 

As he repassed the outer court, 
He spied the fair young child at 

sport : 
He thought to train him to the 

wood; 
For, at a word, be it understood, 
He was always for ill, and never 

for good. 
Seemed to the boy some comrade 

gay 
Led him forth to the woods to 

play; 150 



On the drawbridge the warders 

stout 
Saw a terrier and lurcher passing 

out. 

XIII 

He led the boy o'er bank and fell, 
Until they came to a woodland 

brook ; 
The running stream dissolved the 

spell, 
And his own elfish shape he took. 
Could he have had his pleasure 

vilde, 
He had crippled the joints of the 

noble child, 
Or, with his fingers long and lean, 
Had strangled him in fiendish 

spleen : 160 

But his awful mother he had in 

dread, 
And also his power was limited ; 
So he but scowled on the startled 

child, 
And darted through the forest 

wild; 
The woodland brook he bounding 

crossed, 
And laughed, and shouted, * Lost ! 

lost ! lost ! ' 

XIV 

Full sore amazed at the wondrous 
change, 
And frightened, as a child might 
be, 
At the wild yell and visage strange, 
And the dark words of gram- 
arye, 170 
The child, amidst the forest bower, 
Stood rooted like a lily flower ; 
And when at length, with trem- 
bling pace, 
He sought to find where Brank- 
some lay, 
He feared to see that grisly face 
Glare from some thicket on his 
way. 
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed 

on, 
And deeper in the wood is gone, — 



CANTO THIRD 



67 



For aye the more he sought his 

way, 
The farther still he went astray, 
Until he heard the mountains 

round 181 

Ring to the baying of a hound. 

xv 

And hark! and hark! the deep- 
mouthed bark 
Comes nigher still and nigher ; 

Bursts on the path a dark blood- 
hound, 

His tawny muzzle tracked the 
ground, 
And his red eye shot fire. 

Soon as the wildered child saw 
he, 

He flew at him right furiouslie, 

I ween you would have seen with 
joy 190 

The bearing of the gallant boy, 

When, worthy of his noble sire, 

His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear 
and ire! 

He faced the bloodhound man- 
fully, 

And held his little bat on high ; 

So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid, 

At cautious distance hoarsely 
bayed, 
But still in act to spring ; 

When dashed an archer through 
the glade, 

And when he saw the hound was 
stayed, 200 

He drew his tough bowstring ; 

But a rough voice cried, ' Shoot 
not, hoy ! 

Ho! shoot not, Edward, —'tis a 
boy!' 

XVI 

The speaker issued from the 

wood, 
And checked his fellow's surly 
mood, 
And quelled the bandog's ire : 
He was an English yeoman good 
And born in Lancashire. 



Well could he hit a fallow-deer 

Five hundred feet him fro ; 210 
With hand more true and eye more 
clear 
No archer bended bow. 
His coal-black hair, shorn round 
and close, 
Set off his sun-burned face ; 
Old England's sign, Saint George's 
cross. 
His barret-cap did grace j 
His bugle-horn hung by his side. 
All in a wolf-skin baldric tied; 
And his short falchion, sharp and 

clear, 
Had pierced the throat of many a 
deer. 220 

xvi r 

His kirtle, made of forest green. 

Reached scantly to his knee : 
And, at his belt, of arrows keen 

A furbished sheaf bore he; 
His buckler scarce in breadth a 
span, 
Xo longer fence had he ; 
He never counted him a man, 

Would strike below the knee ; 
His slackened bow was in his 

hand, 
And the leash that was his blood- 
hound's band. 230 

XVIII 

He would not do the fair child- 
harm, 

But held him with his powerful 
arm, 

That he might neither fight nor 
flee; 

For when the red cross spied 
he, 

The boy strove long and violent- 
ly. 

' Now, by Saint George,' the archer 
cries, 

1 Edward, methinks we have a 
prize ! 

This boy's fair face and courage 
free 

Show he is come of high degree.' 



68 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



xrx 

1 Yes ! I am come of high de- 
gree, 240 
For I am the heir of bold Buc- 
cleuch ; 

And, if thou dost not set me free, 
False Southron, thou shalt 
dearly rue ! 

For Walter of Harden shall come 
with speed, 

And William of Deloraine, good at 
need, 

And every Scott from Esk to 
Tweed ; 

And, if thou dost not let me go, 

Despite thy arrows and thy bow, 

I '11 have thee hanged to feed the 
crow ! ' 

XX 

' Gramercy for thy good-will, fair 

boy ! 250 

My mind was never set so high ; 
But if thou art chief of such a 

clan, 
And art the son of such a man, 
And ever comest to thy command, 
Our wardens had need to keep 

good order : 
My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 
Thou 'It make them work upon 

the Border ! 
Meantime, be pleased to come with 

me, 
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou 

see; 
I think our work is well begun, 260 
When we have taken thy father's 

son. 

XXI 

Although the child was led away, 

In Branksome still he seemed to 
stay, 

For so the Dwarf his part did play ; 

And, in the shape of that young 
boy, 

He wrought the castle much an- 
noy. 

The comrades of the young Buc- 
cleuch 



He pinched and beat and over- 
threw ; 
Nay, some of them he well-nigh 

slew. 

He tore Dame Maudlin's silken 

tire, 270 

And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire, 

He lighted the match of his bancle- 

lier, 
And wofully scorched the hack- 

buteer. 
It may be hardly thought or said, 
The mischief that the urchin made, 
Till many of the castle guessed 
That the young baron was pos- 
sessed ! 

XXII 

Well I ween tue charm he held 

The noble Ladye had soon dis- 
pelled, 

But she was deeply busied then 280 

To tend the wounded Deloraine. 

Much she wondered to find him lie 
On the stone threshold stretched 
along : 

She thought some spirit of the sky 
Had done the bold moss-trooper 
wrong, 

Because, despite her precept 
dread, 

Perchance he in the book had 
read ; 

But the broken lance in his bo- 
som stood, 

And it was earthly steel and wood. 

XXIII 

She drew the splinter from the 
wound, 290 

And with a charm she stanched 
the blood. 
She bade the gash be cleansed and 
bound : 
Xo longer by his couch she 
stood ; 
But she has ta'en the broken lance 
And washed it from the clotted 

gore, 
And salved the splinter o'er and 
o'er. 



CANTO THIRD 



6g 



William of Deloraine, in trance, 
Whene'er she turned it round and 

round, 
Twisted as if she galled his wound. 
Then to her maidens she did 

say, 300 

That he should be whole man and 

sound 
Within the course of a night and 

day. 
Full long she toiled, for she did rue 
Mishap to friend so stout and true. 

XXIV 

So passed the day — the evening 

fell, 
'T was near the time of curfew 

bell; 
The air was mild, the wind was 

calm, 
The stream was smooth, the dew 

was balm ; 
E'en the rude watchman on the 

tower 
Enjoyed and blessed the lovely 

hour. 310 

Far more fair Margaret loved and 

blessed 
The hour of silence and of rest. 
On the high turret sitting lone, 
She waked at times the lute's soft 

tone, 
Touched a wild note, and all be- 
tween 
Thought of the bower of haw- 
thorns green. 
Her golden hair streamed free 

from band, 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand, 
Her blue eyes sought the west 

afar, 
For lovers love the western 

star. 320 

XXV 

Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 
That rises slowly to her ken, 
And, spreading broad its waver- 
ing light, 
Shakes its loose tresses on the 
night ? 



Is yon'red glare the western star? — 
O, 't is the beacon-blaze of war ! 
Scarce could she draw her tight- 
ened breath, 
i For well she knew the fire of 
death ! 

XXVI 

The warder viewed it blazing 

strong, 
And blew his war-note loud and 

long, 330 

Till at the high and haughty sound, 
Rock, wood, and river rung around. 
The blast alarmed the festal hall, 
And startled forth the warriors all ; 
Far downward in the castle-yard 
Full many a torch and cresset 

glared ; 
And helms and plumes, confusedly 

tossed, 
Were in the blaze half seen, half 

lost; 
And spears in wild disorder shook, 
Like reeds beside a frozen 

brook. 340 

XXVII 

The seneschal, wiiose silver hair 
Was reddened by the torches' 

glare, 
Stood in the midst, with gesture 

proud, 
And issued forth his mandates 

loud: 
■ On Penchryst glows a bale of fire, 
And three are kindling on Priest- 

haughswire ; 
Ride out, ride out, 
The foe to scout ! 
Mount, mount for Branksome, 

every man ! 
Thou, Todrig, w T arn the Johnstone 

clan, 350 

That ever are true and stout. 
Ye need not send to Liddesdale, 
For w r hen they see the blazing bale 
Elliots and Armstrongs never 

fail. — 
Hide, Alton, ride, for death and 

life, 



?o 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



And warn the warden of the 

strife ! — 
Young Gilbert, let our beacon 

blaze, 
Our kin and clan and friends to 

raise ! ' 

XXVIII 

Fair Margaret from the turret 

head 
Heard far below the coursers' 
tread, 360 

While loud the harness rung, 
As to their seats with clamor 
dread 
The ready horsemen sprung : 
And trampling hoofs, and iron 

coats, 
And leaders' voices, mingled notes, 
And out ! and out ! 
In hasty rout, 
The horsemen galloped forth ; 
Dispersing to the south to scout, 

And east, and west, and north, 370 
To view their coming enemies, 
And warn their vassals and allies. 

XXIX 

The ready page with hurried hand 

Awaked the need-fire's slumbering 
brand, 
And ruddy blushed the heaven ; 

For a sheet of flame from the tur- 
ret high 

Waved like a blood-flag on the sky, 
All flaring and uneven. 

And soon a score of fires, I ween, 

From height and hill and cliff were 
seen, 380 

Each with warlike tidings fraught ; 

Each from each the signal caught ; 

Each after each they glanced to 
sight, 

As stars arise upon the night. 

They gleamed on many a dusky 
tarn, 

Haunted by the lonely earn ; 

On many a cairn's gray pyramid, 

Where urns of mighty chiefs lie 
hid; 

Till high Dunedin the blazes saw 



From Soltra and Dumpender Law, 
And Lothian heard the Regent's 

order 391 

That all should bowne them for 

the Border. 

XXX 

The livelong night in Branksome 

rang 
The ceaseless sound of steel ; 
The castle -bell with backward 

clang 
Sent forth the larum peal. 
Was frequent heard the heavy jar, 
Where massy stone and iron bar 
Were piled on echoing keep and 

tower, 
To whelm the foe with deadly 

shower ; 400 

Was frequent heard the changing 

guard, 
And watchword from the sleepless 

ward; 
While, wearied by the endless din, 
Bloodhound and ban -dog yelled 

within. 

XXXI 

The noble dame, amid the broil, 

Shared the gray seneschal's high 
toil, 

And spoke of danger with a smile, 

Cheered the young knights, and 
council sage 

Held with the chiefs of riper age. 

No tidings of the foe were brought, 

Nor of his numbers knew they 
aught, 411 

Nor what in time of truce he 
sought. 
Some said that there were thou- 
sands ten ; 

And others weened that it was 
nought 
But Leven Clans or Tynedale 
men, 

Who came to gather in black- 
mail ; 

And Liddesdale, with small avail, 
Might drive them lightly back 
agen. 



CANTO FOURTH 



So passed the anxious night away, 
And welcome was the peep of day. 



Ceased the high sound — the 

listening throng 421 

Applaud the Master of the Song ; 
And marvel much, in helpless age, 
So hard should he his pilgrimage. 
Had he no friend — no daughter 

dear, 
His wandering toil to share and 

cheer ? 
No son to be his father's stay, 
And guide him on the rugged way ? 
'Ay, once he had— but he was 

dead ! ' — 
Upon the harp he stooped his 

head, 430 

And busied himself the strings 

withal, 
To hide the tear that fain would 

fall. 
In solemn measure, soft and slow, 
Arose a father's notes of woe. 



CANTO FOUETH 



Sweet Teviot ! on thy silver tide 

The glaring bale-fires blaze no 

more ; 

No longer steel-clad warriors ride 

Along thy wild and willowed 

shore : 

Where'er thou wind'st by dale or 

hill, 
All, all is peaceful, all is still, 
As if thy waves, since time was 
born, 
Since first they rolled upon the 

Tweed, 
Had only heard the shepherd's 
reed, 9 

Nor startled at the bugle-horn. 

11 

Unlike the tide of human time, 
Which, though it change in 
ceaseless flow, 



Retains each grief, retains each 
crime, 
Its earliest course was doomed 
to know, 

And, darker as it downward bears, 

Is stained with past and present 
tears. 
Low as that tide has ebbed with 
me, 

It still reflects to memory's eye 

The hour my brave, my only boy 
Fell by the side of great Dun- 
dee. 20 

Why, when the volleying musket 
played 

Against the bloody Highland 
blade, 

Why was not I beside him laid? — 

Enough — he died the death of 
fame; 

Enough — he died with conquer- 
ing Graeme. 

in 

Now over Border dale and fell 
Full wide and far was terror 

spread ; 
For pathless marsh and mountain 

cell 
The peasant left his lowly shed. 
The frightened flocks and herds 

were pent 30 

Beneath the peel's rude battle- 

ment ; 
And maids and matrons dropped 

the tear, 
While ready warriors seized the 

spear. 
From Branksome's towers the 

watchman's eye 
Dun wreaths of distant smoke can 

spy, 
Which, curling in the rising sun. 
Showed Southern ravage was be- 
gun. 

IV 

Now loud the heedful gate-ward 
cried : 
'Prepare ye all for blows and 
blood ! 



72 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel- 


Seemed newly dyed with gore ; 


side, 40 


His shafts and bow, of wondrous 


Comes wading through the flood. 


strength, 7 o 


Full oft the Tynedale snatchers 


His hardy partner bore. 


knock 




At his lone gate and prove the 


VI 


lock; 


Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn 


It was but last Saint Barnabright 


show 


They sieged him a whole summer 


The tidings of the English foe : 


night, 


4 Belted Will Howard is marching 


But fled at morning; well they 


here, 


knew, 


And hot Lord Dacre, with many a 


In vain he never twanged the 


spear, 


yew. 


And all the German hackbut-men 


Right sharp has been the evening 


Who have long lain at Askerten. 


shower 


They crossed the Liddel at curfew 


That drove him from his Liddel 


hour, 


tower ; 


And burned my little lonely 


And, by my faith,' the gate-ward 


tower — 


said, 50 


The fiend receive their souls 


1 1 think 't will prove a Warden- 


therefor ! 80 


Raid.' 


It had not been burnt this year 




and more. 


V 


Barnyard and dwelling, blazing 


While thus he spoke, the bold yeo- 


bright, 


man 


Served to guide me on my flight, 


Entered the echoing barbican. 


But I was chased the livelong 


He led a small and shaggy nag, 


night. 


That through a bog, from hag to 


Black John of Akeshaw and Fer- 


hag, 


gus Graeme 


Could bound like any Billhope 


Fast upon my traces came, 


stag. 


Until I turned at Priesthaugh 


It bore his wife and children 


Scrogg, 


twain ; 


And shot their horses in the bog, 


A half-clothed serf was all their 


Slew Fergus with my lance out- 


train : 


right— 


His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark- 


I had him long at high despite ; 90 


browed, 


He drove my cows last Fastern's 


Of silver brooch and bracelet 


night.' 


proud, 60 




Laughed to her friends among the 


VII 


crowd. 


Now weary scouts from Liddes- 


He was of stature passing tall, 


dale, 


But sparely formed and lean 


Fast hurrying in, confirmed the 


withal : 


tale; 


A battered morion on his brow ; 


As far as they could judge by ken, 


A leathern jack, as fence enow, 


Three hours would bring to 


On his broad shoulders loosely 


Teviot's strand 


hung; 


Three thousand armed English- 


A Border axe behind was slung ; 


men. 


His spear, six Scottish ells in 


Meanwhile, full many a warlike 


length, 


band, 






CANTO FOURTH 



73 



From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick 

shade, 
Came in, their chief's defence to 

aid. 
There was saddling and mounting 

in haste, ioo 

There was pricking o'er moor 

and lea ; 
He that was last at the trysting- 

place 
Was but lightly held of his gay 

ladye. 

VIII 

From fair Saint Mary's silver wave, 
From dreary Gamescleuch's 

dusky height, 
His ready lances Thirlestane 

brave 
Arrayed beneath a banner 

bright. 
The treasured, fleur - de - luce he 

claims 
To wreathe his shield, since royal 

James, 
Encamped by Fala's mossy 

wave, no 

The proud distinction grateful 

gave 
For faith mid feudal jars ; 
What time, save Thirlestane alone, 
Of Scotland's stubborn barons 

none 
Would march to southern wars ; 
And hence, in fair remembrance 

worn, 
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has 

borne ; 
Hence his high motto shines re- 
vealed, 
' Ready, aye ready,' for the field. 

IX 

An aged knight, to danger 
steeled, 120 

With many a moss-trooper, came 
on; 
And, azure in a golden field, 
The stars and crescent graced his 
shield, 
Without the bend of Murdieston. 



Wide lay his lands round Oak- 
wood Tower, 

And wide round haunted Castle- 
Ower ; 

High over Borthwick's mountain 
flood 

His wood - embosomed mansion 
stood ; 

In the dark glen, so deep below, 

The herds of plundered England 

lOW, 130 

His bold retainers' daily food, 
And bought with danger, blows, 

and blood. 
Marauding chief ! his sole delight 
The moonlight raid, the morning 

fight; 
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's 

charms 
In youth might tame his rage for 

arms; 
And still in age he spurned at 

rest, 
And still his brows the helmet 

pressed, 
Albeit the blanched locks below 
Were white as Dinlay's spotless 

snow. 140 

Five stately warriors drew the 

sword 
Before their father's band ; 
A braver knight than Harden's 

lord 
Ne'er belted on a brand. 



Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band, 
Came trooping down the Tod- 
shawhill ; 

By the sword they won their land, 
And by the sword they hold it 
still. 

Hearken, Ladye, to the tale 

How thy sires won fair Esk- 
dale. 150 

Earl Morton was lord of that val- 
ley fair, 

The Beattisons were his vassals 
there. 

The earl was gentle and mild of 
mood. 



74 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



The vassals were warlike and 

fierce and rude ; 
High of heart and haughty of 

word, 
Little they recked of a tame liege- 
lord. 
The earl into fair Eskdale came, 
Homage and seigniory to claim : 
Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot he 

sought, 
Saying, ' Give thy best steed, as a 

vassal ought.' 160 

' Dear to me is my bonny white 

steed, 
Oft has he helped me at pinch of 

need; 
Lord and earl though thou be, I 

trow, 
I can rein Bucksfoot better than 

thou.' 
Word on word gave fuel to fire, 
Till so high blazed the Beattison's 

ire, 
But that the earl the flight had 

ta'en. 
The vassals there their lord had 

slain. 
Sore he plied both whip and 

spur, 
As he urged his steed through 

Eskdale muir ; 170 

And it fell down a weary weight, 
Just on the threshold of Brank- 

some gate. 

XI 

The earl was a wrathful man to 

see, 
Full fain avenged would he be. 
In haste to Branksome's lord he 

spoke, 
Saying, * Take these traitors to 

thy yoke ; 
For a cast of hawks, and a purse 

of gold, 
All Eskdale I '11 sell thee, to have 

and hold : 
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beatti- 

sons' clan 
If thou leave st on Eske a landed 

man ! 180 



But spare Woodkerrick's lands 

alone, 
For he lent me his horse to escape 

upon.' 
A glad man then was Branksome 

bold, 
Down he flung him the purse of 

gold; 
To Eskdale soon he spurred 

amain, 
And with him five hundred riders 

has ta'en. 
He left his merrymen in the midst 

of the hill, 
And bade them hold them close 

and still ; 
And alone he wended to the plain, 
To meet with the Galliard and all 

his train. 190 

To Gilbert the Galliard thus he 

said: 
' Know thou me for thy liege-lord 

and head ; 
Deal not with me as with Morton 

tame, 
For Scotts play best at the rough- 
est game. 
Give me in peace my heriot due, 
Thy bonny white steed, or thou 

shalt rue. 
If my horn I three times wind, 
Eskdale shall long have the sound 

in mind.' 

XII 

Loudly the Beattison laughed in 

scorn ; 
' Little care we for thy winded 

horn. 200 

Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's 

lot 
To yield his steed to a haughty 

Scott. 
Wend thou to Branksome back on 

foot, 
With rusty spur and miry boot.' 
He blew his bugle so loud and 

hoarse 
That the dun deer started at far 

Craikcross ; 
He blew again so loud and clear, 



CANTO FOURTH 



75 



Through the gray mountain-mist 

there did lances appear ; 
And the third blast rang with such 

a din 
That the echoes answered from 

Pentounlinn, 210 

And all his riders came lightly 

in. 
Then had you seen a gallant shock, 
When saddles were emptied and 

lances broke ! 
For each scornful word the Gal- 

liard had said 
A Beattison on the field was laid. 
His own good sword the chieftain 

drew, 
And he bore the Galliard through 

and through ; 
Where the Beattisons' blood mixed 

with the rill, 
The Galliard' s Haugh men call it 

still. 
The Scotts have scattered the 

Beattison clan, 220 

In Eskdale they left but one 

landed man. 
The valley of Eske, from the 

mouth to the source, 
Was lost and won for that bonny 

white horse. 

XIII 

Whitslade the Hawk, and Head- i 

shaw came, 
And warriors more than I may 

name ; 
From Yarrow-cleugh to Hind- | 

haugh-swair, 
From Woodhouselie to Chester- 
glen, 
Trooped man and horse, and bow 

and spear ; 
Their gathering word was Bel- 

lenden. 
And better hearts o'er Border 

sod 230 

To siege or rescue never rode. 
The Ladye marked the aids come 

in, 
And high her heart of pride 

arose : 



She bade her youthful son attend, 
That he might know his father's 

friend, 
And learn to face his foes : 
' The boy is ripe to look on war ; 

I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff, 
And his true arrow struck afar 
The raven's nest upon the 

cliff ; 240 

The red cross on a Southern 

breast 
Is broader than the raven's nest : 
Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him 

his weapon to wield, 
And o'er him hold his father's 

shield.' 

XIV 

Well may you think the wily page 
Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 
He counterfeited childish fear, 
And shrieked, and shed full many 

a tear, 
And moaned, and plained in man- 
ner wild. 
The attendants to the Ladye 

told, 250 

Some fairy, sure, had changed the 

child, 
That wont to be so free and bold. 
Then wrathful was the noble 

dame ; 
She blushed blood-red for very 

shame : 
; Hence ! ere the clan his faintness 

view ; 
Hence with the weakling to Buc- 

cleuch ! — 
Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his 

guide 
To Kangleburn's lonely side. — 
Sure, some fell fiend has cursed 

our line, 
That coward should e'er be son of 

mine ! ' 260 

xv 

A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, 
To guide the counterfeited lad. 
Soon as the palfrey felt the weight 
Of that ill-omened elfish freight, 



7 6 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



He bolted, sprung, and reared 

amain, 
Nor heeded bit nor curb nor rein. 
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil 
To drive him but a Scottish mile ; 
But as a shallow brook they 

crossed, 
The elf, amid the running 

stream, 270 

His figure changed, like form in 

dream, 
And fled, and shouted, ' Lost ! 

lost! lost!' 
Full fast the urchin ran and 

laughed, 
But faster still a cloth-yard shaft 
Whistled from startled Tinlinn's 

yew, 
And pierced his shoulder through 

and through. 
Although the imp might not be 

slain, 
And though the wound soon healed 

again, 
Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain ; 
And Watt of Tinlinn, much 

aghast, 280 

Rode back to Branksome fiery 

fast. 

XVI 

Soon on the hill's steep verge he 

stood, 
That looks o'er Branksome' s 

towers and wood ; 
And martial murmurs from below 
Proclaimed the approaching 

Southern foe. 
Through the dark wood, in min- 
gled tone, 
Were Border pipes and bugles 

blown; 
The coursers' neighing he could 

ken, 
A measured tread of marching 

men; 
While broke at times the solemn 

hum, 290 

The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum; 
And banners tall, of crimson sheen, 
Above the copse appear ; 



And, glistening through the haw- 
thorns green, 
Shine helm and shield and spear. 

XVII 

Light forayers first, to view the 

ground, 
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely 

round ; 
Behind, in close array, and fast, 

The Kendal archers, all in green, 

Obedient to the bugle blast, 300 

Advancing from the wood were 

seen. 
To back and guard the archer 

band, 
Lord Dacre's billmen were at 

hand : 
A hardy race, on Irtbing bred, 
With kirtles white and crosses 

red, 
Arrayed beneath the banner tall 
That streamed o'er Acre's con- 
quered wall ; 
And minstrels, as they marched 

in order, 
Played, ' Noble Lord Dacre, he 

dwells on the Border.' 

XVIII 

Behind the English bill and bow 3 10 

The mercenaries, firm and slow, 
Moved on to fight in dark array. 

By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, 

Who brought the band from dis- 
tant Rhine, 
And sold their blood for foreign 
pay. 

The camp their home, their law the 
sword, 

They knew no country, owned no 
lord: 

They were not armed like Eng- 
land's sons, 

But bore the levin-darting guns ; 

Buff coats, all frounced and broi- 
dered o'er, 320 

And morsing- horns and scarfs 
they wore ; 

Each better knee was bared, to aid 

The warriors in the escalade; 



CANTO FOURTH 



77 



All as they marched, in rugged 

tongue 
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. 

XIX 

But louder still the clamor grew, 

And louder still the minstrels blew, 

When, from beneath the green- 
wood tree, 

Rode forth Lord Howard's chiv- 
alry ; 

His men-at-arms, with glaive and 
spear, 330 

Brought up the battle's glittering 
rear. 

There many a youthful knight, 
full keen 

To gain his spurs, in arms was 
seen, 

With favor in his crest or glove, 

Memorial of his ladye-love. 

So rode they forth in fair array, 

Till full their lengthened lines dis- 
play; 

Then called a halt, and made a 
stand, 

And cried, ' Saint George for 
merry England ! » 

xx 

Now every English eye intent 340 
On Branksome's armed towers 

was bent ; 
So near they were that they might 

know 
The straining harsh of each cross- 
bow; 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleamed axe and spear and parti- 
san ; 
Falcon and culver on each tower 
Stood prompt their deadly hail to 

shower ; 
And flashing armor frequent broke 
From eddying whirls of sable 

smoke, 

Where upon tower and turret 

head 350 

The seething pitch and molten lead 

Reeked like a witch's caldron 

red. 



While yet they gaze, the bridges 

fall, 
The wicket opes, and from the 

wall 
Rides forth the hoary seneschal. 

XXI 

Armed he rode, all save the head, 
His white beard o'er his breast- 
plate spread ; 
Unbroke by age, erect his seat, 
He ruled his eager courser's 

gait, 
Forced him with chastened fire 
to prance, 360 

And, high curvetting, slow ad- 
vance : 
In sign of truce, his better hand 
Displayed a peeled willow wand ; 
His squire, attending in the rear, 
Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. 
When they espied him riding 

out, 
Lord Howard and Lord Dacre 

stout 
Sped to the front of their array, 
To hear what this old knight 
should say. 

XXII 

'Ye English warden lords, of 
you 370 

Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, 

W T hy, 'gainst the truce of Border 
tide, 

In hostile guise ye dare to ride, 

With Kendal bow and Gilsland 
brand, 

And all yon mercenary band, 

Upon the bounds of fair Scotland ? 

My Ladye reads you swith re- 
turn ; 

And, if but one poor straw you 
burn, 

Or do our towers so much molest 

As scare one swallow from her 
nest, 380 

Saint Mary! but we'll light a 
brand 

Shall warm your hearths in Gum 
berland.' — 



78 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



XXIII 

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord, 
But calmer Howard took tbe 

word : 
1 May 't please thy dame, Sir Sen- 

eschal, 
To seek the castle's outward wall, 
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show 
Both why we came and when we 

go.' 
The message sped, the noble dame 
To the wall's outward circle 

came ; 390 

Each chief around leaned on his 

spear, 
To see the pursuivant appear. 
All in Lord Howard's livery 

dressed, 
The lion argent decked his breast ; 
He led a boy of blooming hue — 
O sight to meet a mother's view ! 
It was the heir of great Buccleuch. 
Obeisance meet the herald made, 
And thus his master's will he 

said : 

XXIV 

'It irks, high dame, my noble 

lords, 400 

'Gainst ladye fair to draw their 

swords ; 
But yet they may not tamely see, 
All through the Western War- 

denry, 
Your law - contemning kinsmen 

ride, 
And burn and spoil the Border- 
side; 
And ill beseems your rank and 

birth 
To make your towers a flemens- 

firth. 
We claim from thee William of 

Deloraine, 
That he may suffer march-treason 

pain. 
It was but last Saint Cuthbert's 

even 410 

He pricked to Stapleton on Leven, 
Harried the lands of Richard Mus- 

grave, 



And slew his brother by dint of 

glaive. 
Then, since a lone and widowed 

dame 
These restless riders may not 

tame, 
Either receive within thy towers 
Two hundred of my master's 

powers, 
Or straight they sound their war- 

rison, 
And storm and spoil thy garrison ; 
And this fair boy, to London 

led, 420 

Shall good King Edward's page 

be bred.' 

XXV 

He ceased — and loud the boy did 

cry, 
And stretched his little arms on 

high, 
Implored for aid each well-known 

face, 
And strove to seek the dame's em- 
brace. 
A moment changed that Ladye's 

cheer, 
Gushed to her eye the unbidden 

tear ; 
She gazed upon the leaders round, 
And dark and sad each warrior 

frowned ; 
Then deep within her sobbing 

breast 430 

She locked the struggling sigh to 

rest, 
Unaltered and collected stood, 
And thus replied in dauntless 

mood: 

XXVI 

' Say to your lords of high emprise 
Who war on women and on 

boys, 
That either William of Deloraine 
Will cleanse him by oath of march- 
treason stain, 
Or else he will the combat take 
'Gainst Musgrave for his honor's 
sake, 



CANTO FOURTH 



79 



No knight in Cumberland so 

good 44° 

But William may count with him 

kin and blood. 
Knighthood he took of Douglas' 

sword, 
When English blood swelled An- 

cram ford ; 
And but Lord Dacre's steed was 

wight, 
And bare him ably in the flight, 
Himself had seen him dubbed a 

knight. 
For the young heir of Branksome's 

line, 
God be his aid, and God be mine ! 
Through me no friend shall meet 

his doom; 
Here, while I live, no foe finds 

room. 450 

Then, if thy lords their purpose 

urge, 
Take our defiance loud and high ; 
Our slogan is their lyke-wake 

dirge, 
Our moat the grave where they 

shall lie.' 

XXVII 

Proud she looked round, applause 

to claim — 
Then lightened Thirlestane's eye 
of flame ; 
His bugle Wat of Harden blew ; 
Pensils and pennons wide were 

flung, 
To heaven the Border slogan rung, 
1 Saint Mary for the young Buc- 
cleuch ! ' 460 

The English war-cry answered 
wide, 
And forward bent each Southern 
spear; 
Each Kendal archer made a stride, 
And drew the bowstring to his 
ear ; 
Each minstrel's war-note loud was 

blown ; — 
But, ere a gray-goose shaft had 
flown, 
A horseman galloped from the 
rear. 



XXVIII 

1 Ah ! noble lords ! ■ he breathless 

said, 
'What treason has your march 

betrayed ? 
What make you here from aid so 

far, 470 

Before you walls, around you war? 
Your foemen triumph in the 

thought 
That in the toils the lion 's caught. 
Already on dark Ruberslaw 
The Douglas holds his w T eapon- 

schaw ; 
The lances, waving in his train, 
Clothe the dun heath like autumn 

grain ; 
And on the Liddel's northern 

strand, 
To bar retreat to Cumberland, 
Lord Maxwell ranks his merrymen 

good 480 

Beneath the eagle and the rood ; 
And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviot- 

dale, 
Have to proud Angus come ; 
And all the Merse and Lauderdale 
Have risen with haughty Home. 
An exile from Northumberland, 
In Liddesdale I've wandered 

long, 
But still my heart was with merry 

England, 
And cannot brook my country's 

wrong ; 
And hard I've spurred all night, 

to show 490 

The mustering of the coming foe.' 

XXIX 

• And let them come ! ' fierce Dacre 

cried ; 
1 For soon yon crest, my father's 

pride, 
That swept the shores of Judah's 

sea, 
And waved in gales of Galilee, 
From Branksome's highest towers 

displayed, 
Shall mock the rescue's lingering 

aid! — 
Level each harquebuss on row ; 



8o 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Draw, merry archers, draw the 

bow ; 499 

Up, billmen, to the walls, and cry, 
Dacre for England, win or die ! ' — 

XXX 

1 Yet hear,' quoth Howard, * calmly 

hear, 
Nor deem my words the words of 

fear: 
For who, in field or foray slack, 
Saw the Blanche Lion e'er fall 

back? 
But thus to risk our Border flower 
In strife against a kingdom's 

power, 
Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thou- 
sands three, 
Certes, were desperate policy. 
Nay, take the terms the Ladye 

made 510 

Ere conscious of the advancing 

aid: 
Let Musgrave meet fierce Delo- 

raine 
In single fight, and if he gain, 
He gains for us ; but if he 's crossed, 
'T is but a single warrior lost : 
The rest, retreating as they came, 
Avoid defeat and death and shame.' 

XXXI 

111 could the haughty Dacre brook 
His brother warden's sage rebuke ; 
And yet his forward step he stayed, 
And slow and sullenly obeyed. 521 
But ne'er again the Border side 
Did these two lords in friendship 

ride; 
And this slight discontent, men 

say, 
Cost blood upon another day. 

XXXII 

The pursuivant-at-arms again 
Before the castle took his stand ; 

His trumpet called with parleying 
strain 
The leaders of the Scottish band ; 

And he defied, in Musgrave's right, 

Stout Deloraine to single fight. 531 



A gauntlet at their feet he laid, 

And thus the terms of fight he 
said: 

1 If in the lists good Musgrave's 
sword 
Vanquish the Knight of Delo- 
raine, 

Your youthful chieftain, Brank- 
some's lord, 
Shall hostage for his clan re- 
main; 

If Deloraine foil good Musgrave, 

The boy his liberty shall have. 
Howe'er it falls, the English 
band, S4 o 

Unharming Scots, by Scots un- 
harmed, 

In peaceful march, like men un- 
armed, 
Shall straight retreat to Cumber- 
land.' 

XXXIII 

Unconscious of the near relief, 
The proffer pleased each Scottish 
chief, 
Though much the Ladye sage 
gainsaid ; 
For though their hearts were brave 

and true, 
From Jedwood's recent sack they 
knew 
How tardy was the Regent's aid : 
And you may guess the noble 
dame 550 

Durst not the secret prescience 
own, 
Sprung from the art she might not 
name, 
By which the coming help was 
known. 
Closed was the compact, and agreed 
That lists should be enclosed with 
speed 
Beneath the castle on a lawn : 
They fixed the morrow for the 

strife, 
On foot, with Scottish axe and 
knife, 
At the fourth hour from peep of 
dawn ; 



CANTO FOURTH 



81 



When Deloraine, from sickness 
freed, 560 

Or else a champion in his stead, 

Should for himself and chieftain 
stand 

Against stout Musgrave, hand to 
hand. 

xxxiv 
I know right well that in their lay 
Full many minstrels sing and say 
Such combat should be made on 
horse 
On foaming steed, in full career, 
With brand to aid, whenas the 
spear 
Should shiver in the course : 569 
But he, the jovial harper, taught 
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, 

In guise which now I say ; 
He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of Black Lord Archibald's battle- 
laws, 
In the old Douglas' day. 
He brooked not, he, that scoffing 

tongue 
Should tax his minstrelsy with 
wrong, 
Or call his song untrue : 
For this, when they the goblet 

plied, 

And such rude taunt had chafed 

his pride, 580 

The Bard of Eeull he slew. 

On Teviot's side in fight they stood, 

And tuneful hands were stained 

with blood, 
Where still the thorn's white 

branches wave, 
Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 

XXXV 

Why should I tell the rigid doom 
That dragged my master to his 

tomb; 
How Ousenam's maidens tore 

their hair, 
Wept till their eyes were dead and 

dim, 
And wrung their hands for love of 

him 590 



Who died at Jedwood Air ? 
He died ! — his scholars, one by one, 
To the cold silent grave are gone ; 
And I, alas ! survive alone, 
To muse o'er rivalries of yore, 
And grieve that I shall hear no 

more 
The strains, with envy heard be- 
fore ; 
For, with my minstrel brethren 

fled, 
My jealousy of song is dead. 



He paused: the listening dames 

again 600 

Applaud the hoary Minstrel's 

strain. 
With many a word of kindly 

cheer, — 
In pity half, and half sincere, — 
Marvelled the Duchess how so well 
His legendary song could tell 
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 
Of feuds, whose memory was not; 
Of forests, now laid waste and 

bare; 
Of towers, which harbor now the 

hare; 
Of manners, long since changed 

and gone; 610 

Of chiefs, who under their gray 

stone 
So long had slept that fickle Fame 
Had blotted from her rolls their 

name, 
And twined round some new min- 
ion's head 
The fading wreath for which they 

. bled: 
In sooth, 'twas strange this old 

man's verse 
Could call them from their marble 

hearse. 

The harper smiled, well pleased; 

for ne'er 
Was flattery lost on poet's ear. 
A simple race! they waste their 

toil 620 

For the vain tribute of a smile ; 



82 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



E'en when in age their flame ex- 
pires, 

Her dulcet breath can fan its 
fires: 

Their drooping fancy wakes at 
praise, 

And strives to trim the short-lived 
blaze. 

Smiled then, well pleased, the aged 
man, 
And thus his tale continued ran. 



CANTO FIFTH 



Call it not vain : — they do not err, 
Who say that when the poet dies 

Mute Nature mourns her worship- 
per 
And celebrates his obsequies ; 

Who say tall cliff and cavern lone 

For the departed bard make moan ; 

That mountains weep in crystal 
rill; 

That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 

Through his loved groves that 
breezes sigh, 

And oaks in deeper groan reply, 10 

And rivers teach their rushing 
wave 

To murmur dirges round his grave. 

ii 

Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 
Those things inanimate can mourn, 
But that the stream, the wood, the 

gale, 
Is vocal with the plaintive wail 
Of those who, else forgotten long, 
Lived in the poet's faithful song, 
And, with the poet's parting breath, 
Whose memory feels a second 
death. 20 

The maid's pale shade, who wails 

her lot, 
That love, true love, should be for- 
got, 
From rose and hawthorn shakes 
the tear 



Upon the gentle minstrel's bier : 
The phantom knight, his glory 

fled, 
Mourns o'er the field he heaped 

with dead, 
Mounts the wild blast that sweeps 

amain 
And shrieks along the battle-plain ; 
The chief, whose antique crownlet 

long 29 

Still sparkled in the feudal song, 
Now, from the mountain's misty 

throne, 
Sees, in the thanedom once his 

own, 
His ashes undistinguished lie, 
His place, his power, his memory 

die; 
His groans the lonely caverns fill, 
His tears of rage impel the rill ; 
All mourn the minstrel's harp un- 
strung, 
Their name unknown, their praise 

unsung. 

in 

Scarcely the hot assault was 

stayed, 
The terms of truce were scarcely 

made, 40 

When they could spy, from Brank- 

some's towers, 
The advancing march of martial 

powers. 
Thick clouds of dust afar ap- 
peared, 
And trampling steeds were faintly 

heard ; 
Bright spears above the columns 

dun 
Glanced momentary to the sun ; 
And feudal banners fair displayed 
The bands that moved to Brank- 

some's aid. 

IV 

Vails not to tell each hardy clan, 
From the fair Middle Marches 
came ; 50 

The Bloody Heart blazed in the 

van, 



CANTO FIFTH 



83 



Announcing Douglas, dreaded 
name! 
Vails not to tell what steeds did 

spurn, 
Where the Seven Spears of Wed- 
derburne 
Their men in battle-order set, 
And Swinton laid the lance in rest 
That tamed of yore the sparkling 
crest 
Of Clarence's Plantagenet. 
Nor list I say what hundreds 

more, 
From the rich Merse and Lammer 
more, 60 

And Tweed's fair borders, to the 

war, 
Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar 
And Hepburn's mingled banners, 
come 
Down the steep mountain glitter- 
ing far, 
And shouting still, ' A Home ! a 
Home ! ' 



Now squire and knight, from 

Branksome sent, 
On many a courteous message 

went: 
To every chief and lord they paid 
Meet thanks for prompt and power- 
ful aid, 
And told them how a truce was 

made, 70 

And how a day of flght was ta'en 
'Twixt Musgrave and stout Delo- 

raine ; 
And how the Ladye prayed them 

dear 
That all would stay the fight to see, 
And deign, in love and courtesy, 
To taste of Branksome cheer. 
Nor, while they bade to feast each 

Scot, 
Were England's noble lords forgot. 
Himself, the hoary seneschal, 
Rode forth, in seemly terms to 

call 80 

Those gallant foes to Branksome 

Hall. 



Accepted Howard, than whom 

knight 
Was never dubbed, more bold in 

fight, 
Nor, when from war and armor 

free, 
More famed for stately courtesy ; 
But angry Dacre rather chose 
In his pavilion to repose. 

VI 

Now, noble dame, perchance you 
ask 
How these two hostile armies 
met, 
Deeming it were no easy task go 
To keep the truce which here 
was set ; 
Where martial spirits, all on fire, 
Breathed only blood and mortal 

ire. 
By mutual inroads, mutual blows, 
By habit, and by nation, foes, 

They met on Teviot's strand; 
They met and sate them mingled 

down, 
Without a threat, without a frown, 
As brothers meet in foreign land : 
The hands, the spear that lately 
grasped, 100 

Still in the mailed gauntlet 
clasped, 
Were interchanged in greeting 
dear ; 
Visors were raised and faces 

shown, 
And many a friend, to friend made 
known, 
Partook of social cheer. 
Some drove the jolly bowl about ; 
With dice and draughts some 
chased the day ; 
And some, with many a merry 

shout, 
In riot, revelry, and rout, 
Pursued the football play. 1 10 

VII 

Yet, be it known, had bugles 
blown 
Or sign of war been seen, 



S4 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Those bands, so fair together 

ranged, 
Those hands, so frankly inter- 
changed, 
Had dyed with gore the green : 
The merry shout by Teviot-side 
Had sunk in war-cries wild and 
wide, 
And in the groan of death ; 
And whingers, now in friendship 

bare, 
The social meal to part and 
share, 120 

Had found a bloody sheath. 
'Twixt truce and war, such sudden 

change 
Was not infrequent, nor held 
strange, 
In the old Border-day ; 
But yet on Branksome's towers 

and town, 
In peaceful merriment, sunk down 
The sun's declining ray. 

VIII 

The blithesome signs of wassail 

gay 
Decayed not with the dying day ; 
Soon through the latticed windows 

tall 130 

Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall, 
Divided square by shafts of stone, 
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ; 
Nor less the gilded rafters rang 
With merry harp and beakers' 

clang ; 
And frequent, on the darkening 

plain, 
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle 

ran, 
As bands, their stragglers to re- 
gain, 
Give the shrill watchword of 

their clan ; 
And revellers, o'er their bowls, 

proclaim 140 

Douglas' or Dacre's conquering 

name. 

IX 

Less frequent heard, and fainter 
still, 



At length the various clamors 
died, 
And you might hear from Brank- 
some hill 
No sound but Teviot's rushing 
tide ; 
Save when the changing sentinel 
The challenge of his watch could 

tell ; 
And save where, through the dark 

profound, 

The clanging axe and hammer's 

sound 

Rung from the nether lawn ; 150 

For many a busy hand toiled there, 

Strong pales to shape and beams 

to square, 
The lists' dread barriers to prepare 
Against the morrow's dawn. 



Margaret from hall did soon re- 
treat, 
Despite the dame's reproving 
eye; 
Nor marked she, as she left her 
seat, 
Full many a stifled sigh : 
For many a noble warrior strove 
To win the Flower of Teviot's 
love, 160 

And many a bold ally. 
With throbbing head and anxious 

heart, 
All in her lonely bower apart, 

In broken sleep she lay. 
By times, from silken couch she 

rose ; 
While yet the bannered hosts re- 
pose, 
She viewed the dawning day : 
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, 
First woke the loveliest and the 
best. 

XI 

She gazed upon the inner court, 170 
Which in the tower's tall sha- 
dow lay, 
Where coursers' clang and stamp 
and snort 
Had rung the livelong yesterday : 



CANTO FIFTH 



85 



Now still as death ; till stalking 
slow, — 
The jingling spurs announced 
his tread, — 
A stately warrior passed below ; 
But when he raised his plumed 
head — 
Blessed Mary ! can it be ? — 
Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers, 
He walks through Branksome's 
hostile towers, 180 

With fearless step and free. 
She dared not sign, she dared not 

speak — 
O, if one page's slumbers break, 
His blood the price must pay ! 
Not all the pearls Queen Mary 

wears, 
Not Margaret's yet more precious 
tears, 
Shall buy his life a day. 

XII 

Yet was his hazard small ; for well 
You may bethink you of the spell 
Of that sly urchin page : 190 

This to his lord he did impart, 
And made him seem, by glamour 
art, 
A knight from Hermitage. 
Unchallenged, thus, the warder's 

post, 
The court, unchallenged, thus he 
crossed, 
For all the vassalage ; 
But O, what magic's quaint dis- 
guise 
Could blind fair Margaret's azure 
eyes! 
She started from her seat ; 
While with surprise and fear she 
strove, 200 

And both could scarcely master 
love — 
Lord Henry 's at her feet. 

XIII 

Oft have I mused what purpose 

bad 
That foul malicious urchin had 
To bring this meeting round, 



For happy love 's a heavenly 

sight, 
And by a vile malignant sprite 

In such no joy is found ; 
And oft I 've deemed, perchance 

he thought 
Their erring passion might have 

wrought 210 

Sorrow and sin and shame, 
And death to Cranstoun's gallant 

Knight, 
And to the gentle Ladye bright 

Disgrace and loss of fame. 
But earthly spirit could not tell 
The heart of them that loved so 

well. 
True love 's the gift which God 

has given 
To man alone beneath the hea- 
ven: 
It is not fantasy's hot fire, 
Whose wishes, soon as granted, 

fly; 220 

It liveth not in fierce desire, 
With dead desire it doth not 

die; 
It is the secret sympathy, 
The silver link, the silken tie, 
Which heart to heart, and mind to 

mind, 
In body and in soul can bind. — 
Now leave we Margaret and her 

knight, 
To tell you of the approaching 

fight. 

XIV 

Their warning blasts the bugles 

blew, 
The pipe's shrill port aroused 

each clan; 230 

In haste the deadly strife to view, 

The trooping warriors eager 

ran: 
Thick round the lists their lances 

stood, 
Like blasted pines in Ettrick 

wood ; 
To Branksome many a look they 

threw, 
The combatants' approach to view, 



86 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



And bandied many a word of 

boast 
About the knight each favored 

most. 

xv 

Meantime full anxious was the 

dame ; 
For now arose disputed claim 240 
Of who should fight for Deloraine, 
'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirle- 

stane. 
They gan to reckon kin and rent, 
And frowning brow on brow was 

bent; 
But yet not long the strife — for, 

lo! 
Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, 
Strong, as it seemed, and free from 

pain, 
In armor sheathed from top to 

toe, 
Appeared and craved the combat 

due. 
The dame her charm successful 

knew, 250 

And the fierce chiefs their claims 

withdrew. 

XVI 

When for the lists they sought the 
plain, 

The stately Ladye's silken rein 
Did noble Howard hold ; 

Unarmed by her side he walked, 

And much in courteous phrase 
they talked 
Of feats of arms of old. 

Costly his garb — his Flemish ruff 

Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of 
buff, 
With satin slashed and lined ; 260 

Tawny his boot, and gold his spur, 

His cloak was all of Poland fur, 
His hose with silver twined ; 

His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen 
felt, 

Hung in a broad and studded belt ; 

Hence, in rude phrase, the Bor- 
derers still 

Called noble Howard Belted Will. 



XVII 

Behind Lord Howard and the 

dame 
Fair Margaret on her palfrey 

came, 
Whose footcloth swept the 

ground ; 270 

W T hite was her wimple and her 

veil, 
And her loose locks a chapletpale 

Of whitest roses bound ; 
The lordly Angus, by her side, 
In courtesy to cheer her tried ; 
Without his aid, her hand in vain 
Had strove to guide her broidered 

rein. 
He deemed she shuddered at the 

sight 
Of warriors met for mortal fight ; 
But cause of terror, all un- 

guessed, 280 

Was fluttering in her gentle breast, 
When, in their chairs of crimson 

placed, 
The dame and she the barriers 

graced. 

XVIII 

Prize of the field, the young Buc- 

cleuch 
An English knight led forth to 

view ; 
Scarce rued the boy his present 

plight, 
So much he longed to see the fight. 
Within the lists in knightly pride 
High Home and haughty Dacre 

ride; 
Their leading staffs of steel they 

wield, 290 

As marshals of the mortal field, 
WTiile to each knight their care 

assigned 
Like vantage of the sun and wind. 
Then heralds hoarse did loud pro- 
claim, 
In King and Queen and Warden's 

name, 
That none, while lasts the strife, 
Should dare, by look or sign or 

word, 



CANTO FIFTH 



87 



Aid to a champion to afford, 

On peril of his life ; 
And not a breath the silence 

broke 300 

Till thus the alternate heralds 

spoke : — 

XIX 

ENGLISH HERALD 

' Here standeth Richard of Mus- 
grave, 
Good knight and true, and freely 
born, 
Amends from Deloraine to crave, 
For foul despiteous scathe and I 
scorn. 
He sayeth that "William of Delo- ! 
raine 
Is traitor false by Border laws ; 
This with his sword he will main- 
tain, 
So help him God and his good 
cause ! ' 

xx 

SCOTTISH HERALD 

'Here standeth William of Delo- : 
raine, 310 | 

Good knight and true, of noble 
strain, 

Who sayeth that foul treason's 
stain, 

Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled 
his coat ; 
And that, so help him God above ! 
He will on Musgrave's body- 
prove 

He lies most foully in his throat.' 

LORD DACRE 

' Forward, brave champions, to the 

fight! 
Sound trumpets ! ' 

LORD HOME 

1 God defend the right ! ' — 

Then, Teviot, how thine echoes 
rang, 

When bugle-sound and trumpet- 
clang 320 



Let loose the martial foes, 
And in mid-list, with shield poised 

high, 
And measured step and wary eye, 

The combatants did close ! 

XXI 

111 would it suit your gentle ear, » 

Ye lovely listeners, to hear 

How to the axe the helms did 

sound, 
And blood poured down from 

many a wound; 
For desperate was the strife and 

long, 
And either warrior fierce and 

strong. 330 

But, were each dame a listening 

knight, 
I well could tell how warriors 

fight; 
For I have seen war's lightning 

flashing, 
Seen the claymore with bayonet 

clashing, 
Seen through red blood the war- 
horse dashing, 
And scorned, amid the reeling 

strife, 
To yield a step for death or life. 

XXII 

'Tis done, 'tis done! that fatal 

blow 
Has stretched him on the bloody 

plain ; 
He strives to rise — brave Mus- 

grave, no! 340 

Thence never shalt thou rise 

again ! 
He chokes in blood — some 

friendly hand 
Undo the visor's barred band, 
Unfix the gorget's iron clasp, 
And give him room for life to 

gasp! — 
O, bootless aid ! — haste, holy 

friar, 
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! 
Of all his guilt let him be shriven. 
And smooth his path from earth 

to heaven ! 



88 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



XXIII 

In haste the holy friar sped 5—350 
His naked foot was dyed with red, 

As through the lists he ran ; 
Unmindful of the shouts on high 
That hailed the conqueror's vic- 
tory, 
1 He raised the dying man ; 
Loose waved his silver beard and 

hair, 
As o'er him he kneeled down in 

prayer ; 
And still the crucifix on high 
He holds before his darkening eye ; 
And still he bends an anxious 

ear, 360 

His faltering penitence to hear ; 
Still props him from the bloody 

sod, 
Still, even when soul and body 

part, 
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart, 

And bids him trust in God ! 
Unheard he prays; — the death- 

pang 's o'er ! 
Richard of Musgrave breathes no 

more. 

XXIV 

As if exhausted in the fight, 

Or musing o'er the piteous sight, 

The silent victor stands ; 370 
His beaver did he not unclasp, 
Marked not the shouts, felt not the 
grasp 

Of gratulating hands. 
When lo ! strange cries of wild sur- 
prise, 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 

Among the Scottish bands ; 
And all, amid the thronged array, 
In panic haste gave open way 
To a half-naked ghastly man, 
Who downward from the castle 
ran : 380 

He crossed the barriers at a bound, 
And wild and haggard looked 
around, 

As dizzy and in pain ; 
And all upon the armed ground 

Knew William of Deloraine ! 



Each ladye sprung from seat with 
speed ; 

Vaulted each marshal from his 
steed ; 
4 And who art thou,' they cried, 

4 Who hast this battle fought and 
won?' 

His plumed helm was soon un- 
done— 390 
' Cranstoun of Teviot-side ! 

For this fair prize I 've fought and 
won, 1 — 

And to the Ladye led her son. 

XXV 

Full oft the rescued boy she kissed, 
And often pressed him to her 

breast, 
For, under all her dauntless show, 
Her heart had throbbed at every 

blow; 
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned 

she greet, 
Though low he kneeled at her 

feet. 
Me lists not tell what words were 

made, 4 oo 

What Douglas, Home, and Howard 

said — 
For Howard was a generous 

foe — 
And how the clan united prayed 
The Ladye would the feud fore- 
go, 
And deign to bless the nuptial 

hour 
Of Cranstoun's lord and Teviot's 

Flower. 

XXVI 

She looked to river, looked to hill, 
Thought on the Spirit's pro- 
phecy, 

Then broke her silence stern and 
still : 
1 Not you, but Fate, has van- 
quished me; 410 

Their influence kindly stars may 
shower 

On Teviot's tide and Branksome's 
tower, 



CANTO FIFTH 



89 



For pride is quelled and love is 
free.' 
She took fair Margaret by the 

hand, 
Who, breathless, trembling, scarce 
might stand ; 
That hand to Cranstoun's lord 
gave she : 
4 As I am true to thee and thine, 
Do thou be true to me and mine ! 
This clasp of love our bond shall 
be, 
For this is your betrothing day, 
And all these noble lords shall 
stay, 42 1 

To grace it with their company.' 

XXVII 

All as they left the listed plain, 
Much of the story she did gain : 
How Cranstoun fought with De- 

loraine, 
And of his page, and of the book 
Which from the wounded knight 

he took ; 
And how he sought her castle 

high, 
That morn, by help of gramarye ; 
How, in Sir William's armor dight, 
Stolen by his page, while slept the 

knight, 431 

He took on him the single fight 
But half his tale he left unsaid, 
And lingered till he joined the 

maid. — 
Cared not the Lad ye to betray 
Her mystic arts in view of day ; 
But well she thought, ere midnight 

came, 
Of that strange page the pride to 

tame, 
From his foul hands the book to 

save, 
And send it back to Michael's 



440 
tender 



grave. — 

Needs not to tell each 
word 

'Twixt Margaret and twixt, Cran- 
stoun's lord ; 

Nor how she told of former woes, 

And how her bosom fell and rose 



While he and Musgrave bandied 

blows. — 
Needs not these lovers' joys to 

tell; 
One day, fair maids, you '11 know 

them well. 

XXVIII 

William of Deloraine some chance 
Had wakened from his deathlike 

trance, 
And taught that in the listed 

plain 450 

Another, in his arms and shield, 
Against fierce Musgrave axe did 

wield, 
Under the name of Deloraine. 
Hence, to the field unarmed he 

ran, 
And hence his presence scared the 

clan, 
Who held him for some fleeting 

wraith, 
And not a man of blood and 

breath. 
Not much this new ally he loved, 
Yet, when he saw what hap had 

proved, 459 

He greeted him right heartilie : 
He would not waken old debate, 
For he was void of rancorous hate, 
Though rude and scant of cour- 
tesy ; 
In raids he spilt but seldom blood, 
Unless when men-at-arms with- 
stood, 
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart 

blow, 
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe. 
And so 't was seen of him e'en 

now, 
When on dead Musgrave he 

looked down : 470 

Grief darkened on his rugged 

brow, 
Though half disguised with a 

frown ; 
And thus, while sorrow bent his 

head, 
His f oeman's epitaph he made : 



90 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



XXIX 

*Now, Richard Musgrave, liest 
thou here, 
I ween, my deadly enemy ; 
For, if I slew thy brother dear, 
Thou slew'st a sister's son to 
me; 
And when I lay in dungeon dark 
Of Na worth Castle long months 
three, 480 

Till ransomed for a thousand 
mark, 
Dark Musgrave, it was long of 
thee. 
And, Musgrave, could our fight he 
tried, 
And thou wert now alive, as I, 
No mortal man should us divide, 
Till one, or both of us, did die : 
Yet rest thee God! for well I 

know 
1 ne'er shall find a nobler foe. 
In all the northern countries here, 
Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and 
spear, 490 

Thou wert the best to follow gear. 
'T was pleasure, as we looked be- 
hind, 
To see how thou the chase couldst 

wind, 
Cheer the dark bloodhound on his 

way, 
And with the bugle rouse the 

fray! 
I 'd give the lands of Deloraine, 
Dark Musgrave were alive again.' 

XXX 

So mourned he till Lord Dacre's 
band 

Were bowning back to Cumber- 
land. 

They raised brave Musgrave from 
the field 500 

And laid him on his bloody shield; 

On levelled lances, four and four, 

By turns, the noble burden bore. 

Before, at times, upon the gale 

Was heard the Minstrel's plain- 
tive wail ; 

Behind, four priests in sable stole 



Sung requiem for the warrior's 

soul; 
Around, the horsemen slowly 

rode; 
With trailing pikes the spearmen 

trode ; 
And thus the gallant knight they 

bore 510 

Through Liddesdale to Leven's 

shore, 
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty 

nave, 
And laid him in his father's grave. 



The harp's wild notes, though 

hushed the song, 
The mimic march of death pro- 
long; 
Now seems it far, and now a-near, 
Now meets, and now eludes the 

ear, 
Now seems some mountain side to 

sweep, 
Now faintly dies in valley deep, 
Seems now as if the Minstrel's 

wail, 520 

Now the sad requiem, loads the 

gale; 
Last, o'er the warrior's closing 

grave, 
Rung the full choir in choral 

stave. 

After due pause, they bade him 

tell 
Why he, who touched the harp so 

well, 
Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, 
Wander a poor and thankless soil, 
When the more generous Southern 

Land 
Would well requite his skilful 

hand. 

The aged harper, howsoe'er 530 
His only friend, his harp, was 

dear, 
Liked not to hear it ranked so 

high 
Above his flowing poesy : 



CANTO SIXTH 



9* 



Less liked he still that scornful 

jeer 
Misprized the land he loved so 

dear; 
High was the sound as thus again 
The hard resumed his minstrel 

strain. 



CANTO SIXTH 



Breathes there the man, with 

soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land? 
^Yhose heart hath ne'er within 

him burned 
As home his footsteps he hath 

turned 
From wandering on a foreign 

strand ? 
If such there breathe, go, mark 

him well ; 
For him no minstrel raptures 

swell ; 
High though his titles, proud his 

name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can 

claim,— 10 

Despite those titles, power, and 

pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he 

sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

11 

O Caledonia, stern and wild, 
Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 
Land of brown heath and shaggy 

wood, 
Land of the mountain and the 

flood, 20 

Land of my sires! what mortal 

hand 
Can e'er untie the filial band 
That knits me to thy rugged 

strand I 



Still, as I view each well-known 

scene, 
Think what is now and what hath 

been, 
Seems as to me, of all bereft, 
Sole friends thy woods and streams 

were left ; 
And thus I love them better still, 
Even in extremity of ill. 
By Yarrow's stream still let me 

stray, 30 

Though none should guide my 

feeble way ■ 
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick 

break, 
Although it chill my withered 

cheek ; 
Still lay my head by Teviot-stone, 
Though there, forgotten and alone, 
The bard may draw his parting 

groan. 



in 



Not 



scorned like me, to Brank- 
some Hall 

The minstrels came at festive call ; 
Trooping they carne from near and 

far, 
The jovial priests of mirth and 

war ; 40 

Alike for feast and fight prepared, 
Battle and banquet both they 

shared. 
Of late, before each martial clan 
They blew their death-note in the 

van, 
But now for every merry mate 
Rose the portcullis' iron grate ; 
They sound the pipe, they strike 

the string, 
They dance, they revel, and they 

sing, 
Till the rude turrets shake and 

ring. 49 

IT 

Me lists not at this tide declare 
The splendor of the spousal 
rite, 
How mustered in the chapel fair 
Both maid and matron, squire 
and knight; 



$2 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Me lists not tell of owcties rare, 
Of mantles green, and braided 

hair, 
And kirtles furred with miniver ; 
What plumage waved the altar 

round, 
How spurs and ringing chainlets 

sound : 
And hard it were for bard to speak 
The changeful hue of Margaret's 

cheek, 60 

That lovely hue which comes and 

flies, 
As awe and shame alternate rise ! 



Some bards have sung, the Ladye 
high 

Chapel or altar came not nigh, 

Nor durst the rites of spousal 
grace, 

So much she feared each holy 
place. 

False slanders these : — I trust 
right well, 

She wrought not by forbidden 
spell, 

For mighty words and signs have 
power 

O'er sprites in planetary hour ; 70 

Yet scarce I praise their ventu- 
rous part 

Who tamper with such dangerous 
art. 

But this for faithful truth I say, — 
The Ladye by the altar stood, 

Of sable velvet her array, 
And on her head a crimson 
hood, 

With pearls embroidered and en- 
twined, 

Guarded with gold, with ermine 
lined ; 

A merlin sat upon her wrist, 

Held by a leash of silken twist. 80 

VI 

The spousal rites were ended 

soon; 
'T was now the merry hour of 

noon, 



And in the lofty arched hall 
Was spread the gorgeous festival. 
Steward and squire, with heedful 

haste, 
Marshalled the rank of every 

guest ; 
Pages, with ready blade, were 

there, 
The mighty meal to carve and 

share : 
O'er capon, heron -shew, and 

crane, 
And princely peacock's gilded 

train, 90 

And o'er the boar-head, garnished 

brave, 
And cygnet from Saint Mary's 

wave, 
O'er ptarmigan and venison, 
The priest had spoke his benison. 
Then rose the riot and the din, 
Above, beneath, without, within ! 
For, from the lofty balcony, 
Rung trumpet, shalm, and psal- 
tery : 
Their clanging bowls old warriors 

quaffed, 
Loudly they spoke and loudly 

laughed; 100 

Whispered young knights, in tone 

more mild, 
To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. 
The hooded hawks, high perched 

on beam, 
The clamor joined with whistling 

scream, 
And flapped their wings and shook 

their bells, 
In concert with the stag-hounds' 

yells. 
Round go the flasks of ruddy wine, 
From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the 

Rhine ; 
Their tasks the busy sewers ply, 
And all is mirth and revelry, no 

VII 

The Goblin Page, omitting still 
No opportunity of ill, 
Strove now, while blood ran hot 
and high, 



CANTO SIXTH 



93 



To rouse debate and jealousy ; 
Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein, 
By nature fierce, and warm with 

wine, 
And now in humor highly crossed 
About some steeds his band had 

lost, 
High words to words succeeding 

still, 
Smote with his gauntlet stout 

Hunthill, 1 20 

A hot and hardy Rutherford, 
Whom men called Dickon Draw- 

the-Sword. 
He took it on the page's saye, 
Hunthill had driven these steeds 

away. 
Then Howard, Home, and Douglas 

rose, 
The kindling discord to compose ; 
Stern Rutherford right little said, 
But bit his glove and shook his 

head. 
A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 
Stout Conrad, cold, and drenched 

in blood, 130 

His bosom gored with many a 

wound, 
Was by a woodman's lyme-dog 

found : 
Unknown the manner of his death, 
Gone was his brand, both sword 

and sheath ; 
But ever from that time, 't was 

said, 
That Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 

VIII 

The dwarf, who feared his master's 

eye 
Might his foul treachery espie, 
Now sought the castle buttery, 
Where many a yeoman, bold and 

free, 140 

Revelled as merrily and well 
As those that sat in lordly selle. 
Watt Tinlinn there did frankly 

raise 
The pledge to Arthur Fire-the- 

Braes ; 
And he, as by his breeding bound, 



To Howard's merry men sent it 
round. 

To quit them, on the English side, 
1 Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 

' A deep carouse to yon fair bride ! ' 

At every pledge, from vat and pail, 

Foamed forth in floods the nut- 
brown ale, 151 

While shout the riders every one ; 

Such day of mirth ne'er cheered 
their clan, 

Since old Buccleuch the name did 
gain, 

When in the cleuch the buck was 
ta'en. 

IX 

The wily page, with vengeful 

thought 
Remembered him of Tinlinn's 

yew, 
And swore it should be dearly 

bought 
That ever he the arrow drew. 
First, he the yeoman did molest 
With bitter gibe and taunting 

jest; 161 

Told how he fled at Solway strife, 
And how Hob Armstrong cheered 

his wife ; 
Then, shunning still his powerful 

arm, 
At unawares he wrought him 

harm ; 
From trencher stole his choicest 

cheer, 
Dashed from his lips his can of 

beer; 
Then, to his knee sly creeping 

on, 
With bodkin pierced him to the 

bone : 
The venomed wound and festering 

joint 170 

Long after rued that bodkin's 

point. 
The startled yeoman swore and 

spurned, 
And board and flagons overturned. 
Riot and clamor wild began ; 
Back to the hall the urchin ran, 



94 



THE LAV OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Took in a darkling nook his post, 
And grinned, and muttered, ' Lost ! 
lost ! lost ! ' 

x 

By this, the dame, lest farther 

fray 
Should mar the concord of the 

day, 
Had bid the minstrels tune their 

lay. i So 

And first stepped forth old Albert 

Graeme, 
The minstrel of that ancient name : 
Was none who struck the harp so 

well 
Within the Land Debatable ; 
Well friended too, his hardy kin, 
Whoever lost, were sure to win ; 
They sought the beeves that made 

their broth 
In Scotland and in England both. 
In homely guise, as nature bade, 
His simple song the Borderer said, 

XI 
ALBERT GKJiME 

It was an English ladye bright, 191 

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle 

wall) 

And she would marry a Scottish 

knight, 

For Love will still be lord of all. 

Blithely they saw the rising sun, 
When he shone fair on Carlisle 
wall; 
But they were sad ere day was 
done, 
Though Love was still the lord 
of all. 

Her sire gave brooch and jewel 
fine, 
Where the sun shines fair on 
Carlisle wall ; 200 

Her brother gave but a flask of 
wine, 
For ire that Love was lord of 
all. 



For she had lands both meadow 
and lea, 
Where the sun shines fair on 
Carlisle wall ; 
And he swore her death, ere he 
would see 
A Scottish knight the lord of all ! 

XII 

That wine she had not tasted well, 

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle 

wall) 

When dead, in her true love's arms, 

she fell, 209 

For Love was still the lord of all. 

He pierced her brother to the 
heart, 
Where the sun shines fair on 
Carlisle wall ; — 
So perish all would true love part, 
That Love may still be lord of 
all! 

And then he took the cross divine, 
Where the sun shines fair on 
Carlisle wall, 

And died for her sake in Palestine, 
So Love was still the lord of all. 

Now all ye lovers, that faithful 

prove, 

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle 

wall) 220 

Pray for their souls who died for 

love, 

For Love shall still be lord of 
all! 

XIII 

As ended Albert's simple lay, 
Arose a bard of loftier port, 
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay 
Renowned in haughty Henry's 
court : 
There rung thy harp, unrivalled 

long, 
Fitztraver of the silver song ! 
The gentle Surrey loved his lyre — 
Who has not heard of Surrey's 
fame ? 230 



CANTO SIXTH 



95 



His was the hero's soul of fire, 
And his the bard's immortal 
name, 
And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivalry. 

XIV 

They sought together climes afar, 
And oft, within some olive grove, 
When even came with twinkling 
star, 
They sung of Surrey's absent 
love. 
His step the Italian peasant stayed, 
And deemed that spirits from on 
high, 240 

Round where some hermit saint 
was laid, 
Were breathing heavenly mel- 
ody; 
So sweet did harp and voice com- 
bine 
To praise the name of Geraldine. 

xv 

Fitztraver, O, what tongue may say 
The pangs thy faithful bosom 
knew, 

When Surrey of the deathless lay 
Ungrateful Tudor' s sentence 
slew? 

Regardless of the tyrant's frown, 

His harp called wrath and ven- 
geance down. 250 

He left, for Naworth's iron towers, 

Windsor's green glades and courtly 
bowers, 

And, faithful to his patron's name, 

With Howard still Fitztraver 
came; 

Lord William's foremost favorite 
he, 

And chief of all his minstrelsy. 

XVI 
FITZTRAVER 

'Twas All-souls' eve, and Sur- 
rey's heart beat high ; 
He heard the midnight bell 
with anxious start, 



Which told the mystic hour, ap- 
proaching nigh, 
When wise Cornelius promised 
by his art 260 

To show to him the ladye of 
his heart, 
Albeit betwixt them roared the 
ocean grim ; 
Yet so the sage had hight to 
play his part, 
That he should see her form in 
life and limb, 
And mark if still she loved and 
still she thought of him. 

XVII 

Dark was the vaulted room of 
gramarye, 
To which the wizard led the 
gallant knight, 
Save that before a mirror, huge 
and high, 
A hallowed taper shed a glim- 
mering light 
On mystic implements of magic 
might, 270 

On cross, and character, and 
talisman, 
And almagest, and altar, no- 
thing bright ; 
For fitful was the lustre, pale 
and wan, 
As watch-light by the bed of some 
departing man. 

XVIII . 

But soon, within that mirror- 
huge and high, 
Was seen a self-emitted light 
to gleam ; 
And forms upon its breast the 
earl gan spy, 
Cloudy and indistinct as fever- 
ish dream ; 
Till, slow arranging and de- 
fined, they seem 
To form a lordly and a lofty 
room, 280 

Part lighted by a lamp with 
silver beam, 



9 6 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Placed by a couch of Agra's 
silken loom, 
And part by moonshine pale, and 
part was hid in gloom. 

XIX 

Fair all the pageant— but how 
passing fair 
The slender form which lay on 
couch of Ind ! 
O'er her white bosom strayed 
her hazel hair, 
Pale her dear cheek, as if for 

love she pined ; 
All in her night-robe loose she 
lay reclined, 
And pensive read from tablet 
eburnine 
Some strain that seemed her 
inmost soul to find : 290 

That favored strain was Surrey's 
raptured line, 
That fair and lovely form the 
Lady Geraldine. 

xx 

Slow rolled the clouds upon the 
lovely form, 
And swept the goodly vision 
all away — 
So royal envy rolled the murky 
storm 
O'er my beloved Master's glori- 
ous day. 
Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! 
Heaven repay 
On thee, and on thy children's 
latest line, 
The wild caprice of thy de- 
spotic sway, 
The gory bridal bed, the plun- 
dered shrine, 300 
The murdered Surrey's blood, the 
tears of Geraldine ! 

XXI 

Both Scots and Southern'chief s pro- 
long 

Applauses of Fitztraver's song ; 

These hated Henry's name as 
death, 



And 



those still held the ancient 
faith. 

Then from his seat with lofty air 

Rose Harold, bard of brave Saint 
Clair, — 

Saint Clair, who, feasting high at 
Home, 

Had with that lord to battle come. 

Harold was born where restless 
seas o jq 

Howl round the storm-swept Or- 
cades ; 

Where erst Saint Clairs held 
princely sway 

O'er isle and islet, strait and 
bay ; - 

Still nods their palace to its fall, 

Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirk- 
wall ! — 

Thence oft he marked fierce Pent- 
land rave, 

As if grim Odin rode her wave, 

And watched the whilst, with vis- 
age pale 

And throbbing heart, the strug- 
gling sail ; 
For all of wonderful and wild 320 
Had rapture for the lonely child. 

XXII 

And much of wild and wonderful 
In these rude isles might Fancy 

cull; 
For thither came in times afar 
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war, 
The Norsemen, trained to spoil 

and blood, 
Skilled to prepare the raven's 

food, 
Kings of the main their leaders 

brave, 
Their barks the dragons of the 

wave ; 
And there, in many a stormy vale, 
The Scald had told his wondrous 

tale, 331 

And many a Runic column high 
Had witnessed grim idolatry. 
And thus had Harold in his youth 
Learned many a Saga's rhyme un- 
couth, — 



CANTO SIXTH 



97 



Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous 

curled, 
Whose monstrous circle girds the 

world ; 
Of those dread Maids whose hide- 
ous yell 
Maddens the battle's bloody 

swell ; 
Of chiefs who, guided through the 

gloom 340 

By the pale death-lights of the 

tomb, 
Ransacked the graves of warriors 

old, 
Their falchions wrenched from 

corpses' hold, 
Waked the deaf tomb with war's 

alarms, 
And bade the dead arise to arms ! 
With war and woncler all on flame, 
To Roslin's bowers young Harold 

came, 
Where, by sweet glen and green- 
wood tree, 
He learned a milder minstrelsy ; 
Yet something of the Northern 

spell 350 

Mixed with the softer numbers 

well. 

XXIII 
HAROLD 

O, listen, listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay, 

That mourns the lovely Rosa- 
belle. 

* Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant 
crew ! 
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 
Nor tempt the stormy firth to- 
day. 

' The blackening wave is edged 
with white ; 360 

To inch and rock the sea-mews 
fly; 



The fishers have heard the Water 
Sprite, 
Whose screams forbode that 
wreck is nigh. 

1 Last night the gifted Seer did 
view 
A wet shroud swathed round 
ladye gay; 
Then stay thee, fair, in Ravens- 
heuch : 
Why cross the gloomy firth to- 
day? ' 

' 'T is not because Lord Lindesay's 
heir 
To-night at Roslin leads the 
ball, 
But that my ladye - mother 
there 370 

Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

' 'T is not because the ring they 
ride, 
And Lindesay at the ring rides 
well, 
But that my sire the wine will 
chide, 
If 't is not filled by Rosabelle.' 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night 
A wondrous blaze was seen to 
gleam ; 
'T was broader than the watch-fire 
light, 
And redder than the bright 
moonbeam. 

It glared on Roslin's castled 
rock, 380 

It ruddied all the copsewood 
glen; 
'T was seen from Dreyden's groves 
of oak, 
And seen from caverned Haw- 
thornden. 

Seemed all on fire that chapel 
proud 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncotfined 
lie, 



9 8 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Each baron, for a sable shroud, 
Sheathed in his iron panoply. 

Seemed all on fire within, around, 
Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 
Shone every pillar foliage- 
bound, 390 
And glimmered all the dead 
men's mail. 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high, 
Blazed every rose-carved but- 
tress fair — 
So still they blaze when fate is 
nigh 
The lordly line of high Saint 
Clair. 

There are twenty of Roslin's bar- 
ons bold 
Lie buried within that proud 
chapelle ; 
Each one the holy vault doth 
hold — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosa- 
belle ! 

And each Saint Clair was buried 
there, 400 

With candle, with book, and 
with knell ; 
But the sea-caves rung and the 
wild winds sung 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 

XXIV 

So sweet was Harold's piteous 
lay, 
Scarce marked the guests the 
darkened hall, 
Though, long before the sinking- 
day, 
A wondrous shade involved 
them all. 
It was not eddying mist or fog, 
Drained by the sun from fen or 
bog; 
Of no eclipse had sages told ; 410 
And yet, as it came on apace, 
Each one could scarce his neigh- 
bor's face, 



Could scarce his own stretched 

hand behold. 
A secret horror checked the 

feast, 
And chilled the soul of every 

guest ; 
Even the high dame stood half 

aghast, 
She knew some evil on the blast ; 
The elfish page fell to the ground, 
And, shuddering, muttered, 

' Found ! found ! found ! ' 

XXV 

Then sudden through the darkened 
air 420 

A flash of lightning came : 

So broad, so bright, so red the 
glare, 
The castle seemed on flame. 

Glanced every rafter of the hall, 

Glanced every shield upon the 
wall ; 

Each trophied beam, each sculp- 
tured stone, 

Were instant seen and instant 
gone; 

Full through the guests' bedazzled 
band 

Resistless flashed the levin-brand, 

And filled the hall with smoulder- 
ing smoke, 430 

As on the elfish page it broke. 

It broke with thunder long and 
loud, 

Dismayed the brave, appalled the 
proud,— 
From sea to sea the larum rung ; 

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle 
withal, 
To arms the startled warders 
sprung. 

When ended was the dreadful roar, 

The elfish dwarf was seen no 
more! 

xxvi 
Some heard a voice in Branksome 

Hall, 
Some saw a sight, not seen by 

all ; 440 



CAXTO SIXTH 



99 



That dreadful voice was heard by 

some 
Cry, with loud summons,' Gylbi>\ 

COME ! ' 

And on the spot where burst the 

brand, 
Just where the page had flung him 

down. 
Some saw an arm, and some a 

hand, 
And some the waving of a gown. 
The guests in silence prayed and 

shook, 
And terror dimmed each loftylook. 
But none of all the astonished train 
Was so dismayed as Deloraine : 450 
His blood did freeze, his brain did 

burn, 
; T was feared his mind would ne'er 

return ; 
For he was speechless, ghastly, 

wan, 
^Like him of whom the story ran, 
<JWho spoke the spectre-hound in 
•5 Man. 

, At length by fits he darkly told, 
With broken hint and shuddering ; 

cold, 
That he had seen right certainly j 
A shape with amice wrapped 

around, 
With a wrought Spanish baldric 

bound, 460 

Like pilgrim from beyond the 

sea,; 
And knew — but how it mattered 

not — 
It was the wizard, Michael Scott. 

XXYII 

The anxious crowd, with horror 

pale, 
All trembling heard the wondrous 

tale : 
Xo sound was made, no word was 

spoke, 
Till noble Angus silence broke ; 
And he a solemn sacred plight 
Did to Saint Bride of Douglas 

make, 469 

That he a pilgrimage would take 



To Melrose Abbey, for the sake 

Of Michael's restless sprite. 
Then each, to ease his troubled 

breast, 
To some blest saint his prayers 

addressed : 
Some to Saint Modan made their 

vows, 
Some to Saint Mary of the Lowes, 
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, 
Some to Our Lady of the Isle ; 
Each did his patron witness make 
That he such pilgrimage would 

take, 480 

And monks should sing and bells 

should toll, 
All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
While vows were ta'en and prayers 

were prayed, 
'Tis said the noble dame, dis- 
mayed, 
Renounced for aye dark magic's 

aid. 

XXTIII 

Xought of the bridal will I tell, 
Which after in short space befell; 
Xor how brave sons and daughters 

fair 
Blessed Teviot's Flower and Crans- 

toun's heir : 
After such dreadful scene 't were 

vain 490 

To wake the note of mirth again. 
More meet it were to mark the 

clay 
Of penitence and prayer divine. 
When pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array, 
Sought Melrose' holy shrine. 

XXIX 

With naked foot, and sackcloth 

vest, 
And arms enfolded on his breast, 

Did every pilgrim go ; 
The standers-by might hear un- 

eath 
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn 

breath. 500 

Through all the lengthened row : 
No lordly look nor martial stride, 



100 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 



Gone was their glory, sunk their 

pride, 
Forgotten their renown ; 
Silent and slow, like ghosts, they 

glide 
To the high altar's hallowed side, 
And there they knelt them down. 
Above the suppliant chieftains 

wave 
The banners of departed brave ; 
Beneath the lettered stones were 

laid 510 

The ashes of their fathers dead ; 
From many a garnished niche 

around 
Stern saints and tortured martyrs 

frowned. 

XXX 

And slow up the dim aisle afar, 
With sable cowl and scapular, 
And snow-white stoles, in order 

due, 
The holy fathers, two and two, 

In long procession came ; 
Taper and host and book they bare, 
And holy banner, flourished fair 

With the Redeemer's name. 521 
Above the prostrate pilgrim band 
The mitred abbot stretched his 
hand, 

And blessed them as they 
kneeled ; 
With holy cross he signed them all, 
And prayed they might be sage in 
hall 

And fortunate in field. 
Then mass was sung, and prayers 

were said, 
And solemn requiem for the dead ; 
And bells tolled out their mighty 
peal 530 

For the departed spirit's weal ; 
And ever in the office close 
The hymn of intercession rose ; 
And far the echoing aisles prolong 
The awful burden of the song, 

Dies ir2e, dies ilea, 

soeyet s^eclum in faviela, 
While the pealing organ rung. 

Were it meet with sacred strain 



To close my lay, so light and 
vain, 540 

Thus the holy fathers sung : 

HYMN FOR THE DEAD 

That day of wrath, that dreadful 

day, 
When heaven and earth shall pass 

away, 
What power shall be the sinner's 

stay? 
How shall he meet that dreadful 

day? 

When, shrivelling like a parched 

scroll, 
The flaming heavens together roll, 
When louder yet, and yet more 

dread, 
Swells the high trump that wakes 

the dead ! 549 



O, on that day, that wrathful day, 
When man to judgment wakes 

from clay, 
Be Thou the trembling sinner's 

stay, 
Though heaven and earth shall 

pass away ! 



Hushed is the harp — the Min- 
strel gone. 

And did he wander forth alone ? 

Alone, in indigence and age, 

To linger out his pilgrimage ? 

No : close beneath proud Newark's 
tower 

Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower, 

A simple hut; but there was seen 

The little garden hedged with 
green, 561 

The cheerful hearth, and lattice 
clean. 

There sheltered wanderers, by the 
blaze, 

Oft heard the tale of other days ; 

For much he loved to ope his door, 

And give the aid he begged be- 
fore. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST 



:oi 



So passed the winter's day; but 

still, 
When summer smiled on sweet 

Bowhill, 
And July's eve, with balmy breath. 
Waved the blue-bells on Newark 

heath, 570 

When throstles sung in Harehead- 

shaw, 
And corn was green on Carter- 

haugh, 
And flourished, broad, Blackan- 

dro's oak, 



The aged harper's soul awoke ! 
Then would he sing achievements 

high 
And circumstance of chivalry, 
Till the rapt traveller would 

stay, 
Forgetful of the closing day ; 
And noble youths, the strain to 

hear, 579 

Forsook the hunting of the deer ; 
And Yarrow, as he rolled along, 
Bore burden to the Minstrel's 

song. 



MARMION 
A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD 



Alas ! that Scottish maid should sing 

The combat where her lover fell ! 
That Scottish Bard should wake the string, 

The triumph of our foes to tell ! 

Leyden's Ode on Visiting Flodden. 



TO THE 

RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE, 

&c. 5 &c, &c, 

THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED BY 
THE AUTHOR 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
FIRST 

TO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, 
ESQ. 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest 

November's sky is chill and 

drear, 
November's leaf is red and sear: 
Late, gazing down the steepy linn 
That hems our little garden in, 



Low in its dark and narrow glen, 

You scarce the rivulet might ken, 

So thick the tangled greenwood 
grew, 

So feeble trilled the streamlet 
through ; 

Now, murmuring hoarse, and fre- 
quent seen 

Through bush and brier, no longer 
green, 10 

An angry brook, it sweeps the 
glade, 



102 



MARMION 



Brawls Over rock and wild cas- 
cade, 

And, foaming brown with double 
speed, 

Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 

No longer autumn's glowing red 

Upon our Forest hills is shed ; 

No more, beneath the evening 
beam, 

Fair Tweed reflects their purple 
gleam. 

Away hath passed the heather- 
bell 

That bloomed so rich on Need- 
path-fell; 20 

Sallow his brow, and russet bare 

Are now the sister-heights of Yair. 

The sheep, before the pinching 
heaven, 

To sheltered dale and down are 
driven, 

Where yet some faded herbage 
pines, 

And yet a watery sunbeam shines ; 

In meek despondency they eye 

The withered sward and wintry 
sky, 

And far beneath their summer 
hill 

Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill. 

The shepherd shifts his mantle's 
fold, 31 

And wraps him closer from the 
cold: 

His dogs no merry circles wheel, 

But shivering follow at his heel ; 

A cowering glance they often cast, 

As deeper moans the gathering- 
blast 

My imps, though hardy, bold, 
and wild. 
As best befits the mountain child, 
Feel the sad influence of the hour, 
And wail the daisy's vanished 
flower, 40 

Their summer gambols tell, and 

mourn, 
And anxious ask, — Will spring re- 
turn, 



And birds and lambs again be gay, 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn 
spray? 

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's 

flower 
Again shall paint your summer 

bower ; 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie ; 
The lambs upon the lea shall 

bound, 49 

The wild birds carol to the round; 
And while you frolic light as they, 
Too short shall seem the summer 

day. 

To mute and to material things 
New life revolving summer brings ; 
The genial call dead Nature hears, 
And in her glory reappears. 
But oh ! my country's wintry state 
What second spring shall reno- 
vate? 
What powerful call shall bid arise 
The buried warlike and the wise, 
The mind that thought for Britain's 
weal, 61 

The hand that grasped the victor 

steel ? 
The vernal sun new life bestows 
Even on the meanest flower that 

blows ; 
But vainly, vainly may he shine 
Where Glory weeps o'er Nel- 
son's shrine, 
And vainly pierce the solemn 

gloom 
That shrouds, O Pitt, thy hal- 
lowed tomb ! 

Deep graved in every British 
heart, 

Oh, never let those names de- 
part ! 70 

Say to your sons, — Lo, here his 
grave 

Who victor died on Gadite wave! 

To him, as to the burning levin, 

Short, bright, resistless course was 
given j 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST 



*°3 



Where'er his country's foes were 

found, 
Was heard the fated thunder's 

sound, 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
Rolled, blazed, destroyed, — and 

was no more. 

Nor mourn ye less his perished 
worth 

Who bade the conqueror go forth, 

And launched that thunderbolt of 
war 81 

On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar; 

Who, born to guide such high em- 
prise, 

For Britain's weal was early wise ; 

Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave, 

For Britain's sins, an early grave ! 

His worth who, in his mightiest 
hour, 

A bauble held the pride of power, 

Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf, 

And served his Albion for her- 
self ; 90 

Who, when the frantic crowd 
amain 

Strained at subjection's bursting 
rein, 

O'er their wild mood full conquest 
gained, 

The pride, he would not crush, re- 
strained, 

Showed their fierce zeal a worthier 
cause, 

And brought the freeman's arm to 
aid the freeman's laws. 

Hadst thou but lived, though 
stripped of power, 

A watchman on the lonely tower, 

Thy thrilling trump had roused 
the land, 

When fraud or danger were at 
hand ; 100 

By thee, as by the beacon-light, 

Our pilots had kept course aright ; 

As some proud column, though 
alone, 

Thy strength had propped the tot- 
tering throne. 



Now is the stately column broke, 
The beacon-light is quenched in 

smoke, 
The trumpet's silver sound is 

still, 
The warder silent on the hill ! 

Oh, think, how to his latest day, 
When Death, just hovering, claim- 

ed his prey, no 

With Palinure's unaltered mood, 
Firm at his dangerous post he 

stood, 
Each call for needful rest repelled, 
With dying hand the rudder held, 
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway, 
The steerage of the realm gave 

way ! 
Then, while on Britain's thousand 

plains 
One unpolluted church remains, 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent 

around 
The bloody tocsin's maddening 

sound, 120 

But still, upon the hallowed day, 
Convoke the swains to praise and 

pray; 
While faith and civil peace are 

dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear, 
He who preserved them, Pitt, lies 

here. 

Nor yet suppress the generous 
sigh 

Because his rival slumbers nigh, 

Nor be thy requiescat dumb 

Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb ; 

For talents mourn, untimely lost, 

When best employed and wanted 
most ; 13 1 

Mourn genius high, and lore pro- 
found, 

And wit that loved to play, not 
wound ; 

And all the reasoning powers di- 
vine, 

To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 

And feelings keen, and fancy's 
glow, 



104 



MARMION 



They sleep with him who sleeps 

below: 
And, if thou mourn' st they could 

not save 
From error him who owns this 

grave, 
Be every harsher thought sup- 

pressed, 140 

And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, where the end of earthly 

things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and 

kings ; 
Where stiff the hand, and still the 

tongue, 
Of those who fought, and spoke, 

and sung ; 
Here, where the fretted aisles pro- 
long 
The distant notes of holy song, 
As if some angel spoke again, 
'All peace on earth, good-will to 

men;' 
If ever from an English heart, 150 
Oh, here let prejudice depart, 
And, partial feeling cast aside, 
Record that Fox a Briton died ! 
When Europe crouched to France's 

yoke, 
And Austria bent, and Prussia 

broke, 
And the firm Russian's purpose 

brave 
Was bartered by a timorous slave, 
Even then dishonor's peace he 

spurned, 
The sullied olive-branch returned, 
Stood for his country's glory 

fast, 160 

And nailed her colors to the mast ! 
Heaven, to reward his firmness, 

gave 
A portion in this honored grave, 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the 

dust. 

With more than mortal powers 
endowed, 
How high they soared above the 
crowd ! 



Theirs was no common party race, 
Jostling by dark intrigue for 

place ; 
Like fabled Gods, their mighty 

war 170 

Shook realms and nations in its 

jar; 
Beneath each banner proud to 

stand, 
Looked up the noblest of the land, 
Till through the British world 

were known 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
Spells of such force no wizard 

grave 
E'er framed in dark Thessalian 

cave, 
Though his could drain the ocean 

dry, 
And force the planets from the 

sky. 
These spells are spent, and, spent 

with these, 180 

The wine of life is on the lees, 
Genius and taste and talent gone, 
Forever tombed beneath the stone 
Where — taming thought to human 

pride ! — 
The mighty chiefs sleep side by 

side. 
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
'T will trickle to his rival's bier; 
O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem 

sound, 
And Fox's shall the notes re- 
bound. 
The solemn echo seems to 

cry, — 190 

' Here let their discord with them 

die. 
Speak not for those a separate 

doom 
Whom Fate made brothers in the 

tomb ; 
But search the land, of living 

men, 
Where wilt thou find their like 

again ? ' 

Rest, ardent spirits, till the cries 
Of dying nature bid you rise ! 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST 



105 



Not even your Britain's groans can 
pierce 

The leaden silence of your hearse ; 

Then, oh, how impotent and 
vain 200 

This grateful tributary strain ! 

Though not unmarked from north- 
ern clime, 

Ye heard the Border Minstrel's 
rhyme : 

His Gothic harp has o'er you rung ; 

The Bard you deigned to praise, 
your deathless names has 
sung. 

Stay yet, illusion, stay a while, 
My wildered fancy still beguile ! 
From this high theme how can I 

part, 
Ere half unloaded is my heart ! 
For all the tears e'er sorrow 

drew, 210 

And all the raptures fancy knew, 
And all the keener rush of blood 
That throbs through bard in bard- 
like mood, 
Were here a tribute mean and low, 
Though all their mingled streams 

could flow — 
Woe, wonder, and sensation high, 
In one spring-tide of ecstasy ! — 
It will not be — it may not last — 
The vision of enchantment 's past : 
Like frostwork in the morning 

ray, 220 

The fancy fabric melts away ; 
Each Gothic arch, memorial-stone, 
And long, dim, lofty aisle, are 

gone; 
And, lingering last, deception dear, 
The choir's high sounds die on my 

ear. 
Now slow return the lonely down, 
The silent pastures bleak and 

brown, 
The farm begirt with copsewood 

wild, 
The gambols of each frolic child, 
Mixing their shrill cries with the 

tone 230 

Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 



Prompt on unequal tasks to run, 
Thus Nature disciplines her son : 
Meeter, she says, for me to stray, 
And waste the solitary day 
In plucking from yon fen the 

reed, 
And watch it floating down the 

Tweed, 
Or idly list the shrilling lay 
With which the milkmaid cheers 

her way. 
Marking its cadence rise and 

fail, 240 

As from the field, beneath her 

pail, 
She trips it down the uneven 

dale ; 
Meeter for me, by yonder cairn, 
The ancient shepherd's tale to 

learn, 
Though oft he stop in rustic fear, 
Lest his old legends tire the ear 
Of one who, in his simple mind, 
May boast of book-learned taste 

refined. 

But thou, my friend, canst fitly 

tell — 
For few have read romance so 

well — 250 

How still the legendary lay 
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; 
How on the ancient minstrel strain 
Time lays his palsied hand in 

vain; 
And how our hearts at doughty 

deeds, 
By warriors wrought in steely 

weeds, 
Still throb for fear and pity's sake ; 
As when the Champion of the 

Lake 
Enters Morgana's fated house, 
Or in the Chapel Perilous, 260 
Despising spells and demons' force, 
Holds converse with the unburied 

corse ; 
Or when, Dame Ganore's grace to 

move — 
Alas, that lawless was their 

love! — 



io6 



MARMION 



He sought proud Tarquin in his 

den, 
And freed full sixty knights ; or 

when, 
A sinful man and unconfessed, 
He took the Sangreal's holy quest, 
And slumbering saw the vision 

high 
He might not view with waking 

eye. 270 

The mightiest chiefs of British 

song 
Scorned not such legends to pro- 

long. 
They gleam through Spenser's elfin 

dream, 
And mix in Milton's heavenly 

theme ; 
And Dryden, in immortal strain, 
Had raised the Table Bound again, 
But that a ribald king and court 
Bade him toil on, to make them 

sport ; 
Demanded for their niggard pay, 
Fit for their souls, a looser lay, 280 
Licentious satire, song, and play ; 
The world defrauded of the high 

design, 
Profaned the God-given strength, 

and marred the lofty line. 

Warmed by such names, well 

may we then, 
Though dwindled sons of little 

men, 
Essay to break a feeble lance 
In the fair fields of old romance ; 
Or seek the moated castle's cell, 
Where long through talisman and 

spell, 
While tyrants ruled and damsels 

wept, 290 

Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept. 
There sound the harpings of the 

North, 
Till he awake and sally forth, 
On venturous quest to prick again, 
In all his arms, with all his train, 
Shield, lance, and brand, and 

plume, and scarf, 



Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and 

dwarf, 
And wizard with his wand of 

might, 
And errant maid on palfrey white. 
Around the Genius weave their 

spells, 300 

Pure Love, who scarce his passion 

tells ; 
Mystery, half veiled and half re- 
vealed ; 
And Honor, with his spotless 

shield ; 
Attention, with fixed eye; and 

Fear, 
That loves the tale she shrinks to 

hear; 
And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or 

death ; 
And Valor, lion-mettled lord, 
Leaning upon his own good sword. 

Well has thy fair achievement 

shown 310 

A worthy meed may thus be 

won: 
Ytene's oaks — beneath whose 

shade 
Their theme the merry minstrels 

made, 
Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold, 
And that Bed King, who, while of 

old 
Through Boldrewood the chase he 

led, 
By his loved huntsman's arrow 

bled — 
Ytene's oaks have heard again 
Renewed such legendary strain ; 
For thou hast sung, how he of 

Gaul, 320 

That Amadis so famed in hall, 
For Oriana, foiled in fight 
The Necromancer's felon might ; 
And well in modern verse hast 

wove 
Partenopex's mystic love : 
Hear, then, attentive to my lay, 
A knightly tale of Albion's elder 

day. 



CANTO FIRST 



107 



CANTO FIRST 



THE CASTLE 



Day set on Norham's castled 

steep, 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and 
deep, 
And Cheviot's mountains lone ; 
The battled towers, the donjon 

keep, 
The loophole grates where cap- 
tives weep, 
The flanking walls that round it 
sweep, 
In yellow lustre shone. 
The warriors on the turrets high, 
Moving athwart the evening sky, 

Seemed forms of giant height ;xo 
Their armor, as it caught the rays. 
Flashed back again the western 
blaze, 
In lines of dazzling light. 

11 
Saint George's banner, broad and 

gay, 
Now faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung ; 
The evening gale had scarce the 

power 
To wave it on the donjon tower, 

So heavily it hung. 
The scouts had parted on their 
search, 20 

The castle gates were barred; 
Above the gloomy portal arch, 
Timing his footsteps to a march, 

The warder kept his guard, 
Low humming, as he paced along, 
Some ancient Border gathering 
song. 

in 

A distant trampling sound he 
hears ; 

He looks abroad, and soon ap- 
pears, 

O'er Horncliff-hill, a plump of 
spears 



Beneath a pennon gay ; 30 

A horseman, darting from the 

crowd 
Like lightning from a summer 

cloud, 
Spurs on his mettled courser 
proud, 
Before the dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade 
That closed the castle barricade, 

His bugle-horn he blew ; 
The warder hasted from the wall. 
And warned the captain in the 
hall, 
For well the blast he knew ; 4 o 
And joyfully that knight did call 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 

IV 

' Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoi- 
sie, 
Bring pasties of the doe, 
And quickly make the entrance 

free, 
And bid my heralds ready be, 
And every minstrel sound his 
glee, 
And all our trumpets blow ; 
And, from the platform, spare ye 

not 
To fire a noble salvo-shot ; 50 

Lord Marmion waits below ! ' 
Then to the castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall, 
The iron-studded gates unbarred. 
Raised the portcullis' ponderous 

guard, 
The lofty palisade unsparred, 
And let the drawbridge fall. 



I Along the bridge Lord Marmion 

rode, 
Proudly his red -roan charger 

trode, 59 

! His helm hung at the saddle 

bow ; 
j Well by his visage you might 

know 
He was a stalworth knight and 

keen, 



io8 



MARMION 



And had in many a battle been ; 
The scar on his brown cheek re- 
vealed 
A token true of Bosworth field ; 
His eyebrow dark and eye of 

fire 
Showed spirit proud and prompt 

to ire, 
Yet lines of thought upon his 

cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by his casque worn 

bare, 70 

His thick moustache and curly 

hair, 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and 

there, 
But more through toil than age, 
His square - turned joints and 

strength of limb, 
Showed him no carpet knight so 

trim, 
But in close fight a champion 

grim, 
In camps a leader sage. 

VI 

Well was he armed from head to 

heel, 
In mail and plate of Milan steel ; 
But his strong helm, of mighty 
cost, 80 

Was all with burnished gold em- 
bossed. 
Amid the plumage of the crest 
A falcon hovered on her nest, 
With wings outspread and for- 
ward breast 
E'en such a falcon, on his shield, 
Soared sable in an azure field : 
The golden legend bore aright, 
'Who checks at me. to death is 

dight' 
Blue was the charger's broidered 

rein ; 
Blue ribbons decked his arching 
mane ; 90 

The knightly housing's ample 

fold 
Was velvet blue and trapped with 
gold. 



VII 

Behind him rode two gallant 

squires, 
Of noble name and knightly sires : 
They burned the gilded spurs to 

claim, 
For well could each a war-horse 

tame, 
Could draw the bow, the sword 

could sway, 
And lightly bear the ring away; 
Nor less with courteous precepts 

stored, 
Could dance in hall, and carve at 

board, 100 

And frame love -ditties passing 

rare, 
And sing them to a lady fair. 

VIII 

Four men-at-arms came at their 

backs, 
With halbert, bill, and battle-axe ; 
They bore Lord Marmion's lance 

so strong, 
And led his sumpter-mules along, 
And ambling palfrey, when at 

need 
Him listed ease his battle-steed. 
The last and trustiest of the four 
On high his forky pennon bore ; 
Like swallow's tail in shape and 

hue, in 

Fluttered the streamer glossy 

blue, 
Where, blazoned sable, as before, 
The towering falcon seemed to 

soar. 
Last, twenty yeomen, two and 

two, 
In hosen black ano: jerkins blue, 
With falcons broidered on each 

breast, 
Attended on their lord's behest. 
Each, chosen for an archer good, 
Knew hunting-craft by lake or 

wood; 120 

Each one a six-foot bow could 

bend, 
And far a cloth-yard shaft could 

send; 



CANTO FIRST 



109 



Each held a boar-spear tough and 

strong, 
And at their belts their quivers 

rung. 
Their dusty palfreys and array 
Showed they had marched a weary 

way. i 

IX 

'T is meet that I should tell you 

now. 
How fairly armed, and ordered 
how, 
The soldiers of the guard, 129 
With musket, pike, and morion, 
To welcome noble Marmion, 

Stood in the castle-yard ; 
Minstrels and trumpeters were 

there, 
The gunner held his linstock 
yare, 
For welcome-shot prepared : 
Entered the train, and such a 

clang 
As then through all his turrets 
rang 
Old Xorham never heard. 

x 

The guards their morrice-pikes 
advanced, 139 

The trumpets flourished brave, 
The cannon from the ramparts 
glanced, 
And thundering welcome gave. 
A blithe salute, in martial sort, 

The minstrels well might sound, 
For, as Lord Marmion crossed the 
court, 
He scattered angels round. 
' Welcome to Xorham, Marmion ! 

Stout heart and open hand ! 
Well dost thou brook thy gallant 
roan, 149 

Thou flower of English land ! ' 

XI 

Two pursuivants, whom tabards 

deck, 
With silver scutcheon round th' 

neck, 



Stood on the steps of stone, 
By which you reach the donjon 

gate, 
And there, with herald pomp and 
state, 
They hailed Lord Marmion : 
They hailed him Lord of Fonte- 

naye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 
Of Tamworth tower and town ; 
And he, their courtesy to requite, 
Gave them a chain of twelve 
marks' weight, 161 

All as he lighted down. 
' Now, largesse, largesse, Lord 
Marmion, 
Knight of the crest of gold ! 
A blazoned shield, in battle won, 
Ne'er guarded heart so bold.' 

XII 

They marshalled him to the castle- 
hall, 
Where the guests stood all aside, 
And loudly flourished the trumpet- 
call, 
And the heralds loudly cried, — 
' Room, lordlings, room for Lord 
Marmion, 171 

With the crest and helm of gold ! 
Full well we know the trophies 
won 
In the lists at Cottiswold : 
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton 
strove 
'Gainst Marmion's force to 
stand ; 
To him he lost his lady-love, 

And to the king his land. 
Ourselves beheld the listed field, 

A sight both sad and fair ; 
We saw Lord Marmion piP v 
shield, 
And saw his sad rP 
We saw 7 the v 1 '"' 

He wear^ 
And on *■ 



110 



MARMION 



For him who conquered in the 
right, 
Marmion of Fontenaye ! ' 190 

XIII 

Then stepped, to meet that noble 
lord, 
Sir Hugh the Heron bold, 
Baron of Twisell and of Ford, 

And Captain of the Hold ; 
He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 
Baised o'er the pavement high, 
And placed him in the upper 
place — 
They feasted full and high : 
The whiles a Northern harper 
rude 199 

Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 
1 How the fierce Thirwalls, and 
Ridley s all, 
Stout Willimondswick, 
And Hardridiug Dick, 
And Hughie of Hawdon, and 
Will o' the Wall, 
Have set on Sir Albany Feather- 

stonhaugh, 
And taken his life at the Dead- 

raan's-shaw.' 
Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could 
brook 
The harper's barbarous lay, 
Yet much he praised the pains he 
took, 209 

And well those pains did pay ; 
For lady's suit and minstrel's 

strain 
By knight should ne'er be heard 
in vain. 

XIV 

Vow, good Lord Marmion,' Heron 
says, 
*our fair courtesy, 

-•" K ide some little space 
ower with me. 
^o your arms 

--horse 



Or feat of arms befell. 220 

The Scots can rein a mettled 
steed, 
And love to couch a spear ; — 
Saint George ! a stirring life they 
lead 
That have such neighbors near ! 
Then stay with us a little space, 

Our Northern wars to learn ; 
I pray you for your lady's grace ! ' 
Lord Marmion's brow grew 
stern. 

xv 

The captain marked his altered 
look, 229 

And gave the squire the sign ; 
A mighty wassail-bowl he took, 

And crowned it high with wine. 
' Now pledge me here, Lord Mar- 
mion ; 
But first I pray thee fair. 
Where hast thou left that page of 

thine 
That used to serve thy cup of 
wine, 
Whose beauty was so rare ? 
When last in Eaby-towers we met, 

The boy I closely eyed, 
And often marked his cheeks were 
wet 240 

With tears he fain would hide. 
His was no rugged horse-boy's 

hand, 
To burnish shield or sharpen 
brand, 
Or saddle battle-steed, 
But meeter seemed for lady fair, 
To fan her cheek, or curl her 

hair, 
Or through embroidery, rich and 
rare, 
The slender silk to lead ; 
His skin was fair, his ringlets 
gold, 
His bosom — when he sighed, 250 
The russet doublet's rugged fold 

Could scarce repel its pride ! 
Say, hast thou given that lovely 
youth 
To serve in lady's bower ? 



CANTO FIRST 



in 



Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 
A gentle paramour ? ' 

XYI 

Lord Marmion ill could brook such 
jest; 
He rolled his kindling eye, 

With pain his rising wrath sup- 
pressed, 
Yet made a calm reply : 260 

1 That boy thou thought so goodly 
fair, 

He might not brook the Northern 
air. 

More of his fate if thou wouldst 
learn, 

I left him sick in Lindisfarne. 

Enough of him. — But, Heron, say, 

Why does thy lovely lady gay 

Disdain to grace the hall to-day ? 

Or has that dame, so fair and sage, 

Gone on some pious pilgrim- 
age ? ' — 

He spoke in covert scorn, for 
fame 270 

Whispered light tales of Heron's 
dame. 

XVII 

Unmarked, at least unrecked, the 
taunt, 
Careless the knight replied : 
4 No bird whose feathers gayly 
flaunt 
Delights in cage to bide ; 
Norham is grim and grated close, 
Hemmed in by battlement and 
fosse, 
And many a darksome tower, 
And better loves my lady bright 
To sit in liberty and light 280 

In fair Queen Margaret's bower. 
We hold our greyhound in our 
hand, 
Our falcon on our glove, 
But where shall we find leash or 
band 
For dame that loves to rove? 
Let the wild falcon soar her swing, 
She '11 stoop when she has tired 
her wing.' — 



XVIII 

' Nay, if with Royal James's bride 
The lovely Lady Heron bide, 
Behold me here a messenger, 290 
Your tender greetings prompt to 

bear; 
For, to the Scottish court ad- 
dressed, 
I journey at our king's behest, 
And pray you, of your grace, pro- 
vide 
For me and mine a trusty guide. 
I have not ridden in Scotland since 
James backed the cause of that 

mock prince, 
Warbeck, that Flemish counter- 
feit, 
I Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
! Then did I march with Surrey's 
power, 300 

I What time we razed old Aytoun 
tower.' 

XIX 

4 For such-like need, my lord, I 
trow, 

Norham can find you guides enow ; 

For here be some have pricked as 
far 

On Scottish ground as to Dun- 
bar, 

Have drunk the monks of Saint 
Bothan's ale, 

And driven the beeves of Lauder- 
dale, 

Harried the wives of Greenlasv's 
goods, 

And given them light to set their 
hoods.' — 

XX 

' Now, in good sooth,' Lord Mar- 
mion cried, 310 
' Were I in warlike wise to ride, 
A better guard I would not lack 
Than your stout forayers at my 

back; 
But as in form of peace I go, 
A friendly messenger, to know, 
Why, through all Scotland, near 
and far, 



112 



MARMION 



Their king is mustering troops 

for war, 
The sight of plundering Border 

spears 
Might justify suspicious fears, 
And deadly feud or thirst of 

spoil 320 

Break out in some unseemly broil. 
A herald were my fitting guide ; 
Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 
Or pardoner, or travelling priest, 
Or strolling pilgrim, at the least' 

XXI 

The captain mused a little space, 
And passed his hand across his 

face. — 
* Fain would I find the guide you 

want, 
But ill may spare a pursuivant, 
The only men that safe can 

ride 330 

Mine errands on the Scottish side : 
And though a bishop built this 

fort, 
Few holy brethren here resort ; 
Even our good chaplain, as I 

ween, 
Since our last siege we have not 

seen. 
The mass he might not sing or say 
Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 
So, safe he sat in Durham aisle, 
And prayed for our success the 

while, 
Our Norham vicar, woe betide, 340 
Is all too well in case to ride ; 
The priest of Shoreswood— he 

could rein 
The wildest war-horse in your 

train. 
But then no spearman in the hall 
Will sooner swear, or stab, or 

brawl, 
Friar John of Tillmouth were the 

man; 
A blithesome brother at the can, 
A welcome guest in hall and 

bower, 
He knows each 'castle, town, and 

tower. 



In which the wine and ale is 

good, 3S o 

'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 
But that good man, as ill befalls, 
Hath seldom left our castle walls, 
Since, on the vigil of Saint Bede, 
In evil hour he crossed the Tweed, 
To teach Dame Alison her creed. 
Old Bughtrig found him with his 

wife, 
And John, an enemy to strife, 
Sans frock and hood, fled for his 

life. 
The jealous churl hath deeply 

swore 360 

That, if again he venture o'er, 
He shall shrieve penitent no 

more. 
Little he loves such risks, I know, 
Yet in your guard perchance will 

go.' 

XXII 

Young Selby, at the fair hall- 
board, 
Carved to his uncle and that lord, 
And reverently took up the word : 
'Kind uncle, woe were we each 

one, 
If harm should hap to brother 

John. 
He is a man of mirthful speech, 370 
Can many a game and gambol 

teach ; 
Full well at tables can he play, 
And sweep at bowls the stake 

away. 
None can a lustier carol bawl, 
The needfullest among us all, 
When time hangs heavy in the 

hall, 
And snow comes thick at Christ- 
mas tide, 
And we can neither hunt nor ride 
A foray on the Scottish side. 
The vowed revenge of Bughtrig 
rude 380 

May end in worse than loss of 

hood. 
Let Friar John in safety still 
In chimney-corner snore his fill, 



CANTO FIRST 



"3 



Roast hissing crabs, or flagons 

swill ; 
Last night, to Norham there came 

one 
Will better guide Lord Mar- 

mion.' — 
* Nephew,' quoth Heron, ' by my 

fay, 
Well hast thou spoke ; say forth 

thy say.' — 

XXIII 

' Here is a holy Palmer come, 
From Salem first, and last from 

Rome ; 390 

One that hath kissed the blessed 

tomb, 
And visited each holy shrine 
In Araby and Palestine ; 
On hills of Armenie hath been, 
Where Noah's ark may yet be 

seen; 
By that Red Sea, too, hath he 

trod, 
Which parted at the Prophet's 

rod; 
In Sinai's wilderness he saw 
The Mount where Israel heard the 

law, 
Mid thunder - dint, and flashing 

levin, 400 

And shadows, mists, and darkness, 

given. 
He shows Saint James's cockle- 
shell, 
Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 
And of that Grot where Olives 

nod, 
Where, darling of each heart and 

eye, 
From all the youth of Sicily, 
Saint Rosalie retired to God. 

xxrv 

4 To stout Saint George of Norwich 

merry, 
Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, 
Cuthbert of Durham and Saint 

Bede, 410 

For his sins' pardon hath he 

prayed. 



He knows the passes of the North, 
And seeks far shrines beyond the 

Forth; 
Little he eats, and long will wake, 
And drinks but of the stream or 

lake. 
This were a guide o'er moor and 

dale; 
But when our John hath quaffed 

his ale, 
As little as the wind that blows, 
And warms itself against his nose, 
Kens he, or cares, which way he 

goes.' — 420 

XXV 

' Gramercy ! ■ quoth Lord Mar- 

mion, 
' Full loath were I that Friar John, 
That venerable man, for me 
Were placed in fear or jeopardy : 
If this same Palmer will me lead 

From hence to Holy-Rood, 
Like his good saint, I '11 pay his 

meed, 
Instead of cockle-shell or bead, 

W r ith angels fair and good. 
I love such holy ramblers ; still 430 
They know to charm a weary hill 

With song, romance, or lay : 
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, 
Some lying legend, at the least, 

They bring to cheer the way.' — 

XXVI 

' Ah ! noble sir,' young Selby said, 

And finger on his lip he laid, 

1 This man'knows much, perchance 

e'en more 
Than he could learn by holy lore. 
Still to himself he 's muttering, 44 o 
And shrinks as at some unseen 

thing. 
Last night we listened at his cell ; 
Strange sounds we heard, and, 

sooth to tell, 
He murmured on till morn, how- 

e'er 
No living mortal could be near. 
Sometimes I thought I heard it 

plain, 



H4 



MARMION 



As other voices spoke again. 
I cannot tell — I like it not — 
Friar John hath told us it is wrote, 
No conscience clear and void of 

wrong 450 

Can rest awake and pray so long. 
Himself still sleeps before his 

beads 
Have marked ten aves and two 

creeds.' — 

XXVII 

1 Let pass,' quoth Marmion ; * by 

my fay, 
This man shall guide me on my 

way, 
Although the great arch-fiend and 

he 
Had sworn themselves of com- 
pany. 
So please you. gentle youth, to call 
This Palmer to the castle-hall.' 
The summoned Palmer came in 

place ,• 460 

His sable cowl o'erhung his face ; 
In his black mantle was he clad, 
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red, 
On his broad shoulders wrought ; 
The scallop shell his cap did deck ; 
The crucifix around his neck 
Was from Loretto brought ; 
His sandals were with travel tore, 
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he 

wore ; 
The faded palm -branch in his 

hand 47° 

Showed pilgrim from the Holy 

Land. 

XXVIII 

Whenas the Palmer came in hall, 
Nor lord nor knight was there 

more tall, 
Or had a statelier step withal, 

Or looked more high and keen ; 
For no saluting did he wait, 
But strode across the hall of 

state, 
And fronted Marmion where he 
sate, 
As he his peer had been. 



But his gaunt frame was worn with 

toil ; 480 

His cheek was sunk, alas the 

while ! 
And when he struggled at a smile 

His eye looked haggard wild : 
Poor wretch, the mother that him 

bare, 
If she had been in presence there, 
In his wan face and sunburnt hair 

She had not known her child. 
Danger, long travel, want, or woe, 
Soon change the form that best we 

know — 
For deadly fear can time out- 

gO, 490 

And blanch at once the hair; 

Hard toil can roughen form and 
face, 

And want can quench the eye's 
bright grace, 

Nor does old age a wrinkle trace 
More deeply than despair. 

Happy whom none of these be- 
fall, 

But this poor Palmer knew them 
all. 

XXIX 

Lord Marmion then his boon did 

ask; 
The Palmer took on him the task, 
So he would march with morning 

tide, 500 

To Scottish court to be his guide. 
' But I have solemn vows to pay, 
And may not linger by the way, 
To fair Saint Andrew's bound. 
Within the ocean-cave to pray, 
Where good Saint Rule his holy 

lay, 
From midnight to the dawn of 

day, 
Sung to the billows' sound ; 
Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed 

well, 
Whose spring can frenzied dreams 

dispel, 510 

And the crazed brain restore. 
Saint Mary grant that cave or 

spring 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND 



i\ 



Could back to peace my bosom 
bring, 
Or bid it throb no more ! 

XXX 

And now the midnight draught of 

sleep, 
Where wine and spices richly 

steep, 
In massive bowl of silver deep, 

The page presents on knee. 
Lord Marmion drank a fair good 

rest, 
The captain pledged his noble 

guest, 520 

The cup went through among the 

rest, 
Who drained it merrily ; 
Alone the Palmer passed it by, 
Though Selby pressed him cour- 
teously. 
This was a sign the feast was 

o'er; 
It hushed the merry wassail roar, 
The minstrels ceased to sound. 
Soon in the castle nought was 

heard 
But the slow footstep of the guard 
Pacing his sober round. 530 

XXXI 

With early dawn Lord Marmion 

rose : 
And first the chapel doors unclose ; 
Then, after morning rites were 

done — 
A hasty mass from Friar John — 
And knight and squire had broke 

their fast 
On rich substantial repast, 
Lord Marmion's bugles blew to 

horse. 
Then came the stirrup-cup in 

course : 
Between the baron and his host, 
x/o point of courtesy was lost; 540 
High thanks were by Lord Mar- 
mion paid, 
Solemn excuse the captain made. 
Till, filing from the gate, had 

passed 



That noble train, their lord the 

last. 
Then loudly rung the trumpet call ; 
Thundered the cannon from the 

wall, 
And shook the Scottish shore ; 
Around the castle eddied slow 
Volumes of smoke as white as 

snow 
And hid its turrets hoar, 550 
Till they rolled forth upon the air, 
And met the river breezes there, 
Which gave again the prospect 

fair. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
SECOND 

TO THE REV. JOHX ZNIARRIOT, A.M. 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest 

The scenes are desert now and 

bare, 
Where flourished once a forest 

fair, 
When these waste glens with copse 

were lined, 
And peopled with the hart and 

hind. 
Yon thorn — perchance whose 

prickly spears 
Have fenced him for three hun- 
dred years, 
While fell around his green com- 
peers- 
Yon lonely thorn, would he could 

tell 
The changes of his parent dell, 
Since he, so gray and stubborn 

now, 10 

Waved in each breeze a sapling 

bough ! 
Would he could tell how deep the 

shade 
A thousand mingled branches 

made; 
How broad the shadows of the oak, 
How clung the rowan to the rock, 
And through the foliage showed 

his head, 



n6 



MARMION 



With narrow leaves and berries 

red; 
What pines on every mountain 

sprung, 1 8 

O'er every dell what birches hung, 
In every breeze what aspens shook, 
What alders shaded every brook ! 

'Here, in my shade,' methinks 

he 'd say, 
' The mighty stag at noontide lay ; 
The wolf I 've seen, a fiercer 

game, — 
The neighboring dingle bears his 

name, — 
With lurching step around me 

prowl, 
And stop, against the moon to 

howl; 
The mountain-boar, on battle set, 
His tusks upon my stem would 

whet; 
While doe, and roe, and red-deer 

good, 30 

Have bounded by through gay 

greenwood. 
Then oft from Newark's riven 

tower 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's 

power : 
A thousand vassals mustered 

round, 
With horse, and hawk, and horn, 

and hound ; 
And I might see the youth intent 
Guard every pass with crossbow 

bent; 
And through the brake the rangers 

stalk, 
And falconers hold the ready 

hawk; 39 

And foresters, in greenwood trim, 
Lead in the leash the gazehounds 

grim, 
Attentive, as the bratchet's bay 
From the dark covert drove the 

prey, 
To slip them as he broke away. 
The startled quarry bounds amain, 
As fast the gallant greyhounds 

strain ; 



Whistles the arrow from the bow, 
Answers the harquebuss below ; 
While all the rocking hills reply 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' 
cry, 50 

And bugles ringing lightsomely.' 

Of such proud huntings many 

tales 
Yet linger in our lonely dales, 
Up pathless Ettrick and on Yar- 
row, 
Where erst the outlaw drew his 

arrow. 
But not more blithe that sylvan 

court, 
Than we have been at humbler 

sport ; 
Though small our pomp and mean 

our game, 
Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the 

same. 
Remember' st thou my greyhounds 

true ? 60 

O'er holt or hill there never .flew, 
From slip or leash there never 

sprang, 
More fleet of foot or sure of fang. 
Nor dull, between each merry 

chase, 
Passed by the intermitted space ; 
For we had fair resource in store, 
In Classic and in Gothic lore ; 
We marked each memorable scene, 
And held poetic talk between ; 
Nor hill, nor brook, we paced 

along, 70 

But had its legend or its song. 
All silent now — for now are still 
Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! 
No longer from thy mountains dun 
The yeoman hears the well-known 

gun, 
And while his honest heart glows 

warm 
At thought of his paternal farm, 
Round to his mates a brimmer fills, 
And drinks, ' The Chieftain of the 

Hills ! ' 
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bow- 
ers, 80 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND 



ii7 



Trip o'er the walks or tend the 

flowers, 
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw 
By moonlight dance on Carter- 

haugh ; 
No youthful Baron 's left to grace 
The Forest-Sheriffs lonely chace, 
And ape, in manly step and tone, 
The majesty of Oberon: 
And she is gone whose lovely face 
Is but her least and lowest grace ; 
Though if to Sylphid Queen 't were 

given 90 

To show our earth the charms of 

heaven, 
She could not glide along the air 
With form more light or face more 

fair. 
No more the widow's deafened ear 
Grows quick that lady's step to 

hear: 
At noontide she expects her not, 
Nor busies her to trim the cot ; 
Pensive she turns her humming 

wheel, 
Or pensive cooks her orphans' 

meal, 
Yet blesses, ere she deals their 

bread, 100 

The gentle hand by which they 're 

fed. 

From Yair — which hills so 

closely bind, 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage 

find, 
Though much he fret, and chafe, 

and toil, 
Till all his eddying currents boil — 
Her long-descended lord is gone, 
And left us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive 

boys, 
Companions of my mountain joys, 
Just at the age 'twixt boy and 

youth, no 

When thought is speech, and 

speech is truth. 
Close to my side with what delight 
They pressed to hear of Wallace 

wight, 



When, pointing to his airy mound, 
I called his ramparts holy ground ! 
Kindled their brows to hear me 

speak ; 
And I have smiled, to feel my 

cheek, 
Despite the difference of our years, 
Return again the glow of theirs. 
Ah, happy boys ! such feelings 

pure, 120 

They will not, cannot long endure ; 
Condemned to stem the world's 

rude tide, 
You may not linger by the side ■ 
For Fate shall thrust you from the 

shore 
And Passion ply the sail and oar. 
Yet cherish the remembrance still 
Of the lone mountain and the 

rill; 
For trust, dear boys, the time will 

come, 
When fiercer transport shall be 

dumb, 
And you will think right fre- 
quently, 130 
But, well I hope, without a sigh, 
On the free hours that we have 

spent 
Together on the brown hill's bent. 

When, musing on companions 
gone, 
We doubly feel ourselves alone, 
Something, my friend, we yet may 

gain; 
There is a pleasure in this pain : 
It soothes the love of lonely rest, 
Deep in each gentler heart im- 
pressed. 
'T is silent amid worldly toils, 140 
And stifled soon by mental broils; 
But, in a bosom thus prepared, 
Its still small voice is often heard, 
Whispering a mingled sentiment 
'Twixt resignation and content. 
Oft in my mind such thoughts 

awake 
By lone Saint Mary's silent lake : 
Thou know'st it well, — nor fen nor 
sedge 



u8 



MARMION 



Pollute the pure lake's crystal 

edge; 
Abrupt and sheer, the mountains 

sink 150 

At once upon the level brink, 
And just a trace of silver sand 
Marks where the water meets the 

land. 
Far in the mirror, bright and blue, 
Each hill's huge outline you may 

view; 
Shaggy with heath, but lonely 

bare, 
Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is 

there, 
Save where of land yon slender 

line 
Bears thwart the lake the scattered 

pine. 
Yet even this nakedness has 

power, 160 

And aids the feeling of the hour : 
Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you 

spy, 
Where living thing concealed 

might lie ; 
Nor point retiring hides a dell 
Where swain or woodman lone 

might dwell ; 
There's nothing left to fancy's 

guess, 
You see that all is loneliness : 
And silence aids — though the 

steep hills 168 

Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 
In summer tide so soft they weep, 
The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 
Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too 

rude, 
So stilly is the solitude. 

Nought living meets the eye or 

ear, 
But well I ween the dead are 

near; 
For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low, 
Yet still, beneath the hallowed 

soil, 
The peasant rests him from his 

toil, 179 



And dying bids his bones be laid 
Where erst his simple fathers 
prayed. 

If age had tamed the passions' 

strife, 
And fate had cut my ties to life, 
Here have I thought 't were sweet 

to dwell, 
And rear again the chaplain's cell, 
Like that same peaceful hermitage, 
Where Milton longed to spend his 

age. 
'T were sweet to mark the setting 

day 
On Bourhope's lonely top decay, 
And, as it faint and feeble died 190 
On the broad lake and mountain's 

side, 
To say, 'Thus pleasures fade away ; 
Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, 
And leave us dark, forlorn, and 

gray; 
Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined 

tower, 
And think on Yarrow's faded 

Flower ; 
And wben that mountain-sound I 

heard, 
Which bids us be for storm pre- 
pared, 
The distant rustling of his wings, 
As up his force the Tempest brings, 
'T were sweet, ere yet his terrors 

rave, 201 

To sit upon the Wizard's grave, 
That Wizard Priest's whose bones 

are thrust 
From company of holy dust ; 
On which no sunbeam ever 

shines — 
So superstition's creed divines — 
Thence view the lake with sullen 

roar 
Heave her broad billows to the 

shore ; 
And mark the wild-swans mount 

the gale, 
Spread wide through mist their 

snowy sail, 210 

And ever stoop again, to lave 



CANTO SECOND 



119 



Their bosoms on the surging wave ; 
Then, when against the driving 

hail 
No longer might my plaid avail, 
Back to my lonely home retire, 
And light my lamp and trim my 

fire; 
There ponder o'er some mystic lay, 
Till the wild tale had all its sway, 
And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 
I heard unearthly voices speak, 
And thought the Wizard Priest 

was come 221 

To claim again his ancient home ! 
And bade my busy fancy range, 
To frame him fitting shape and 

strange, 
Till from the task my brow I 

cleared, 
And smiled to think that I had 

feared. 

But chief 't were sweet to think 

such life — • 
Though but escape from fortune's 

strife — 
Something most matchless good 

and wise, 
A great and grateful sacrifice, 230 
And deem each hour to musing 

given 
A step upon the road to heaven. 

Yet him whose heart is ill at 

ease 
Such peaceful solitudes displease ; 
He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
Amid the elemental war : 
And my black Palmer's choice had 

been 
Some ruder and more savage scene, 
Like that which frowns round dark 

Lochskene. 
There eagles scream from isle to 

shore ; 240 

Down all the rocks the torrents 

roar; 
O'er the black waves incessant 

driven, 
Dark mists infect the summer 

heaven ; 



Through the rude barriers of the 

lake, 
Away its hurrying waters break, 
Faster and whiter dash and curl, 
Till down yon dark abyss they 

hurl. 
Rises the fog-smoke white as snow, 
Thunders the viewless stream be- 
low, 249 
Diving, as if condemned to lave 
Some demon's subterranean cave, 
Who, prisoned by enchanter's 

spell, 
Shakes the dark rock with groan 

and yell. 
And well that Palmer's form and 

mien 
Had suited with the stormy scene, 
Just on the edge, straining his ken 
To view the bottom of the den, 
Where, deep deep down, and far 

within, 
Toils with the rocks the roaring 

linn ; 
Then, issuing forth one foamy 

wave, 260 

And wheeling round the Giant's 

Grave, 
White as the snowy charger's tail, 
Drives down the pass of Moffat- 

dale. 

Marriot, thy harp, on Isis strung, 
To many a Border theme has 

rung: 
Then list to me, and thou shalt 

know 
Of this mysterious Man of Woe. 



CANTO SECOND 

THE CONTENT 



The breeze which swept away the 
smoke 
Eound Norham Castle rolled, 
When all the loud artillery spoke 
With lightning-flash and thunder- 
stroke, 



120 



MARMION 



As Marmion left the hold, — 
It curled not Tweed alone, that 

breeze, 
For, far upon Northumbrian seas, 

It freshly blew and strong, 
Where, from high Whitby's clois- 
tered pile, 
Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy 
Isle, 10 

It bore a bark along. 
Upon the gale she stooped her 

side, 
And bounded o'er the swelling 
tide, 
As she were dancing home ; 
The merry seamen laughed to see 
Their gallant ship so lustily 

Furrow the green sea-foam. 
Much joyed they in their honored 

freight ; 
For on the deck, in chair of state, 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed, 
With five fair nuns, the galley 
graced. 21 

11 

'Twas sweet to see these holy 

maids, 
Like birds escaped to greenwood 

shades, 
Their first flight from the cage, 
How timid, and how curious too, 
For all to them was strange and 

new, 
And all the common sights they 

view 
Their wonderment engage. 
One eyed the shrouds and swelling 

sail, 
With many a benedicite ; 30 

One at the rippling surge grew 

pale, 
And would for terror pray, 
Then shrieked because the sea-dog 

nigh 
His round black head and spark- 
ling eye 
Reared o'er the foaming spray ; 
And one would still adjust her 

veil, 
Disordered by the summer gale, 



Perchance lest some more worldly 

eye 
Her dedicated charms might spy, 
Perchance because such action 

graced 40 

Her fair-turned arm and slender 

waist. 
Light was each simple bosom 

there, 
Save two, who ill might pleasure 

share,— 
The Abbess and the Novice Clare. 

in 

The Abbess was of noble blood, 
But early took the veil and hood, 
Ere upon life she cast a look, 
Or knew the world that she for- 
sook. 
Fair too she was, and kind had 

been 
As she was fair, but ne'er had 

seen 50 

For her a timid lover sigh, 
Nor knew the influence of her 

eye. 
Love to her ear was but a name, 
Combined with vanity and shame ; 
Her hopes, her fears, her joys, 

were all 
Bounded within the cloister wall ; 
The deadliest sin her mind could 

reach 
Was of monastic rule the breach ; 
And her ambition's highest aim 
To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 60 
For this she gave her ample dower 
To raise the convent's eastern 

tower ; 
For this, with carving rare and 

quaint, 
She decked the chapel of the saint, 
And gave the relic-shrine of cost, 
With ivory and gems embossed. 
The poor her convent's bounty 

blest, 
The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 

IV 

Black was her garb, her rigid rule 
Reformed on Benedictine school ; 



CANTO SECOND 



121 



Her cheek was pale, her form was 

spare ; 7 1 

Vigils and penitence austere 
Had early quenched the light of 

youth : 
But gentle was the dame, in sooth ; 
Though, vain of her religious 

sway, 
She loved to see her maids obey, 
Yet nothing stern was she in cell, 
And the nuns loved their Abbess 

well. 
Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
Summoned to Lindisfarue, she 

came, 80 

There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot 

old 
And Tynemouth's Prioress, to 

hold 
A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
For inquisition stern and strict 
On two apostates from the faith, 
And, if need were, to doom to 

death. 

v 

Naught say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save this, that she was young and 

fair; 
As yet a novice unprofessed, 
Lovely and gentle, but distressed. 
She was betrothed to one now 

dead, 91 

Or worse, who had dishonored 

fled. 
Her kinsmen bade her give her 

hand 
To one who loved her for her land ; 
Herself, almost heart - broken 

now, 
Was bent to take the vestal vow, 
And shroud within Saint Hilda's 

gloom 
Her blasted hopes and withered 

bloom. 

VI 

She sate upon the galley's prow, 
And seemed to mark the waves 

below ; 100 

Nay, seemed, so fired her look and 

eye, 



To count them as they glided by. 

She saw them not— 't was seem- 
ing all — 

Far other scene her thoughts re- 
call, — 

A sun-scorched desert, waste and 
bare, 

Nor waves nor breezes murmured 
there ; 

There saw she where some care- 
less hand 

O'er a dead corpse had heaped 
the sand, 

To hide it till the jackals come 109 

To tear it from the scanty tomb. — 

See what a woful look was given, 

As she raised up her eyes to 
heaven ! 

VII 

Lovely, and gentle, and dis- 
tressed — 
These charms might tame the 

fiercest breast : 
Harpers have sung and poets told 
That he, in fury uncontrolled, 
The shaggy monarch of the wood, 
Before a virgin, fair and good, 
Hath pacified his savage mood. 119 
But passions in the human frame 
Oft put the lion's rage to shame ; 
And jealousy, by dark intrigue, 
With sordid avarice in league, 
Had practised with their bowl and 

knife 
Against the mourner's harmless 

life. 
This crime was charged 'gainst 

those who lay 
Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet gray. 

VIII 

And now the vessel skirts the 
strand 

Of mountainous Northumberland ; 

Towns, towers, and halls succes- 
sive rise, 130 

And catch the nuns' delighted 
eyes. 

Monk - Wearmouth soon behind 
them lay, 



122 



MARMION 



And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; 
They marked amid her trees the 

hall 
Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ; 
They saw the Blythe and Wans- 

beck floods 
Rush to the sea through sounding 

woods; 
They passed the tower of Widder- 

ington, 
Mother of many a valiant son ; 
At Coquet-isle their beads they 

tell 140 

To the good saint who owned the 

cell; 
Then did the Alne attention claim, 
And Warkworth, proud of Percy's 

name; 
And next they crossed themselves 

to hear 
The whitening breakers sound so 

near, 
Where, boiling through the rocks, 

they roar 
On Dunstanborough's caverned 

shore ; 
Thy tower, proud Bamborough, 

marked they there, 
King Ida's castle, huge and 

square, 
From its tall rock look grimly 

down, 150 

And on the swelling ocean frown ; 
Then from the coast they bore 

away, 
And reached the Holy Island's bay. 

IX 

The tide did now its flood-mark 

gain, 
And girdled in the Saint's domain ; 
For, with the flow and ebb, its 

style 
Varies from continent to isle : 
Dry shod, o'er sands, twice every 

day 
The pilgrims to the shrine find 

way; 
Twice every day the waves efface 
Of staves and sandalled feet the 

trace. 161 



As to the port the galley flew, 
Higher and higher rose to view 
The castle with its battled walls, 
The ancient monastery's halls, 
A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile. 
Placed on the margin of the isle. 



In Saxon strength that abbey 

frowned, 
With massive arches broad and 

round, 
That rose alternate, row and 

row, 170 

On ponderous columns, short 

and low, 
Built ere the art was known, 
By pointed aisle and shafted 

stalk 
The arcades of an alleyed walk 
To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls the heathen 

Dane 
Had poured his impious rage in 

vain ; 
And needful was such strength to 

these, 
Exposed to the tempestuous seas, 
Scourged by the winds' eternal 

sway, 180 

Open to rovers fierce as they, 
Which could twelve hundred 

years withstand 
Winds, waves, and northern pi- 
rates' hand. 
Not but that portions of the pile, 
Rebuilded in a later style, 
Showed where the spoiler's hand 

had been ; 
Not but the wasting sea-breeze 

keen 
Had worn the pillar's carving 

quaint, 
And mouldered in his niche the 

saint, 
And rounded with consuming 

power 190 

The pointed angles of each tower ; 
Yet still entire the abbey stood, 
Like veteran, worn, but unsub- 

dued. 



CANTO SECOND 



123 



XI 

Soon as they neared his turrets 

strong, 
The maidens raised Saint Hilda's 

song, 
And with the sea-wave and the ! 

wind 
Their voices, sweetly shrill, com- 1 

bined, 
And made harmonious close ; 
Then, answering from the sandy \ 

shore, 
Half-drowned amid the breakers' 

roar, 200 

According chorus rose : 
Down to the haven of the Isle 
The monks and nuns in order file 
From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; 
Banner, and cross, and relics there, 
To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they 

bare ; 
And, as they caught the sounds on 

air, 
They echoed back the hymn. 
The islanders in joyous mood 
Rushed emulously through the 

flood 210 

To hale the bark to land ; 
Conspicuous by her veil and hood, 
Signing the cross, the Abbess 

stood, 
And blessed them with her hand. 

XII 

Suppose we now the welcome said, 

Suppose the convent banquet 
made : 
All through the holy dome, 

Through cloister, aisle, and gal- 
lery, 

Wherever vestal maid might pry, 

Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye. 
The stranger sisters roam ; 221 

Till fell the evening damp with 
dew, 

And the sharp sea-breeze coldly 
blew, 

For there even summer night is 
chill. 

Then, having strayed and gazed 
their fill, 



They closed around the fire ; 
And all, in turn, essayed to paint 
The rival merits of their saint, 

A theme that ne'er can tire 
A holy maid, for be it known 230 
That their saint's honor is their 
own. 

XIII 

Then Whitby's nuns exulting told 

How to their house three barons 
bold 
Must menial service do, 

While horns blow out a note of 
shame, 

And monks cry, ■ Fie upon your 
name! 

In wrath, for loss of sylvan game, 
Saint Hilda's priest ye slew/ — 

' This, on Ascension-day, each year 

While laboring on our harbor- 
pier, 240 

Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy 
hear.' — 

They told how in their convent- 
cell 

A Saxon princess once did dwell, 
The lovely Edelfled ; 

And how, of thousand snakes, each 
one 

Was changed into a coil of stone 
When holy Hilda prayed ; 

Themselves, within their holy 
bound, 

Their stony folds had often found. 

They told how sea-fowls' pinions 
fail, 250 

As over Whitby's towers they sail, 

And, sinking down, with flutter- 
ings faint, 

They do their homage to the saint. 

XIV 

Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters 

fail 
To vie with these in holy tale ; 
His body's resting-place, of old, 
How oft their patron changed, 

they told ; 
How, when the rude Dane burned 

their pile, 



124 



MARMION 



The monks fled forth from Holy 

Isle; 
O'er Northern mountain, marsh, 
and moor, 260 

From sea to sea, from shore to 

shore, 
Seven years Saint Cuthbert's 
corpse they bore. 
They rested them in fair Mel- 
rose ; 
But though, alive, he loved it 
well, 
Not there his relics might re- 
pose ; 
For, wondrous tale to tell ! 
In his stone coffin forth he rides, 
A ponderous bark for river tides, 
Yet light as gossamer it glides 
Downward to Tilmouth cell. 
Nor long was his abiding there, 
For southward did the saint re- 
pair ; 
Ohester-le-Street and Ripon saw 
His holy corpse ere Wardilaw 

Hailed him with joy and fear ; 
And, after many wanderings past, 
He chose his lordly seat at last 
Where his cathedral, huge and 
vast, 
Looks down upon the Wear. 
There, deep in Durham's Gothic 
shade, 280 

His relics are in secret laid ; 

But none may know the place, 
Save of his holiest servants three, 
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy, 
Who share that wondrous grace. 

xv 
Who may his miracles declare ? 
Even Scotland's dauntless king 
and heir — 
Although with them they led 
Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale, 
And Loden's knights, all sheathed 
in mail, 290 

And the bold men of Teviotdale — 

Before his standard fled. 
'T was he, to vindicate his reign, 
Edged Alfred's falchion on the 
Dane, 



And turned the Conqueror back 
again, 

When, with his Norman bowyer 
band, 

He came to waste Northumber- 
land. 

XVI 

But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would 
learn 

If on a rock, by Lindisfarne, 

Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to 
frame 300 

The sea-born beads that bear his 
name : 

Such tales had Whitby's fishers 
told, 

And said they might his shape be- 
hold, 
And hear his anvil sound ; 

A deadened clang, — a huge dim 
form, 

Seen but, and heard, when gather- 
ing storm 
And night were closing round. 

But this, as tale of idle fame, 

The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. 

XVII 

While round the fire such legends 

go, 310 

Far different was the scene of 

woe 
Where, in a secret aisle beneath, 
Council was held of life and death. 
It was more dark and lone, that 

vault, 
Than the worst dungeon cell ; 
Old Colwulf built it, for his fault 

In penitence to dwell, 
When he for cowl and beads laid 

down 
The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 
This den, which, chilling every 
sense 320 

Of feeling, hearing, sight, 
Was called the Vault of Penitence, 

Excluding air and light, 
Was by the prelate Sexhelm made 
A place of burial for such dead 
As, having died in mortal sin, 



CANTO SECOND 



125 



Might not be laid the church 
within. 

'T was now a place of punish- 
ment; 

Whence if so loud a shriek were 
sent 
As reached the upper air, 330 

The hearers blessed themselves, 
and said 

The spirits of the sinful dead 
Bemoaned their torments there. 

XVIII 

But though, in the monastic pile, 
Did of this penitential aisle 
Some vague tradition go, 
Few only, save the Abbot, knew 
Where the place lay, and still more 

few 
Were those who had from him the 

clew 
To that dread vault to go. 340 
Victim and executioner 
Were blindfold when transported 

there. 
In low dark rounds the arches 

hung, 
From the rude rock the side-walls 

sprung ; 
The gravestones, rudely sculp- 
tured o'er, 
Half sunk in earth, by time half 

wore, 
Were all the pavement of the 

floor ; 
The mildew-drops fell one by one, 
With tinkling plash, upon the 

stone. 
A cresset, in an iron chain, 350 
Which served to light this drear 

domain. 
With damp and darkness seemed 

to strive, 
As if it scarce might keep alive ; 
And yet it dimly served to show 
The awful conclave met below. 

XIX 

There, met to doom in secrecy, 
Were placed the heads of convents 
three, 



All servants of Saint Benedict, 
The statutes of whose order strict 
On iron table lay; 360 

In long black dress, on seats of 

stone, 
Behind were these three judges 

shown 
By the pale cresset's ray. 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda's there 
Sat for a space with visage bare, 
Until, to hide her bosom's swell, 
And tear-drops that for pity fell, 

She closely drew her veil ; 
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess, 
By her proud mien and flowing 

dress, 370 

Is Tynemouth's haughty Prior- 
ess, 
And she with awe looks pale ; 
And he, that ancient man, whose 

sight 
Has long been quenched by age's 

night, 
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone 
Nor ruth nor mercy's trace is 

shown, 
Whose look is hard and stern, — 
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style, 
For sanctity called through the 

isle 
The Saint of Lindisfarne. 380 

xx 

Before them stood a guilty pair ; 
But, though an equal fate they 

share, 
Yet one alone deserves our care. 
Her sex a page's dress belied ; 
The cloak and doublet, loosely 

tied, 
Obscured her charms, but could 
not hide. 
Her cap down o'er her face she 
drew; 
And, on her doublet breast, 
She tried to hide the badge of 
blue, 389 

Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
But, at the prioress' command, 
A monk undid the silken band 
That tied her tresses fair. 



126 



MARMION 



And raised the bonnet from her 

head, 
And down her slender form they 

spread 
In ringlets rich and rare. 
Constance de Beverley they know, 
Sister professed of Fontevraud, 
Whom the Church numbered with 

the dead, 399 

For broken vows and convent fled. 

XXI 

When thus her face was given to 

view, — 
Although so pallid was her hue, 
It did a ghastly contrast bear 
To those bright ringlets glistering 

fair, — 
Her look composed, and steady 

eye, 
Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 
And there she stood so calm and 

pale 
That, but her breathing did not 

fail, 
And motion slight of eye and head, 
And of her bosom, warranted 410 
That neither sense nor pulse she 

lacks, 
You might have thought a form of 

wax, 
Wrought to the very life, was 

there ; 
So still she was, so pale, so fair. 

XXII 

Her comrade was a sordid soul, 
Such as does murder for a meed ; 

Who, but of fear, knows no con- 
trol, 

Because his conscience, seared 
and foul, 
Feels not the import of his deed ; 

One whose brute-feeling ne'er as- 
pires 420 

Beyond his own more brute de- 
sires. 

Such tools the Tempter ever needs 

To do the savagest of deeds ; 

For them no visioned terrors 
daunt, 



Their nights no fancied spectres 

haunt ; 
One fear with them, of all most 

base, 
The fear of death, alone finds 

place. 
This wretch was clad in frock and 

cowl, 
And shamed not loud to moan and 

howl, 
His body on the floor to dash, 430 
And crouch, like hound beneath 

the lash ; 
While his mute partner, standing 

near, 
Waited her doom without a tear. 

XXIII 

Yet well the luckless wretch 
might shriek, 

Well might her paleness terror 
speak ! 

For there were seen in that dark 
wall 

Two niches, narrow, deep, and 
tall ; — 

Who enters at such grisly door 

Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. 

Iu each a slender meal was laid, 440 

Of roots, of water, and of bread; 

By each, in Benedictine dress, 

Two haggard monks stood motion- 
less, . 

Who, holding high a blazing torch, 

Showed the grim entrance of the 
porch ; 

Eeflecting back the smoky beam, 

The dark- red walls and arches 
gleam. 

Hewn stones and cement were dis- 
played, 

And building tools in order laid. 

XXIV 

These executioners were chose 450 
As men who were with mankind 

foes, 
And, with despite and envy fired, 
Into the cloister had retired, 
Or who, in desperate doubt of 
grace, 



CANTO SECOND 



127 



Strove by deep penance to efface 
Of some foul crime the stain ; 
For, as the vassals of her will, 
Such men the Church selected 

still 

As either joyed in doing ill, 459 

Or thought more grace to gain 

If in her cause they wrestled dowu 

Feelings their nature strove to 

own. 
By strange device were they 

brought there, 
They knew not how, and knew 
not where. 

XXV 

And now that blind old Abbot 
rose, 
To speak the Chapter's doom 
On those the wall was to enclose 

Alive within the tomb, 
But stopped because that woful 

maid, 
Gathering her powers, to speak 
essayed ; 470 

Twice she essayed, and twice in 

vain, 
Her accents might no utterance 

gain; 
Nought but imperfect murmurs 

slip 
From her convulsed and quiver- 
ing lip : 
'Twixt each attempt all was so 

still, 
You seemed to hear a distant 
rill — 
'T was ocean's swells and 
falls ; 
For though this vault of sin and 

fear 
Was to the sounding surge so 

near, 
A tempest there you scarce 
could hear, 480 

So massive were the walls. 

XXVI 

At length, an effort sent apart 
The blood that curdled to her 
heart, 



And light came to her eye, 
And color dawned upon her cheek, 
A hectic and a fluttered streak, 
Like that left on the Cheviot 
peak 
By Autumn's stormy sky ; 
And when her silence broke at 

length, 
Still as she spoke she gathered 
strength, 490 

And armed herself to bear. 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy 
In form so soft and fair. 

XXVII 

1 1 speak not to implore your grace, 
Well know I for one minute's 

space 
Successless might I sue : 
Nor do I speak your prayers to 

gain ; 
For if a death of lingering pain 
To cleanse my sins be penance 

vain, 500 

Vain are your masses too. — 
I listened to a traitor's tale, 
I left the convent and the veil ; 
For three long years I bowed my 

pride, 
A horse-boy in his train to ride ; 
And well my folly's meed he gave, 
Who forfeited, to be his slave, 
All here, and all beyond the grave. 
He saw young Clara's face more 

fair, 
He knew her of broad lands the 

heir, 510 

Forgot his vows, his faith for- 
swore, 
And Constance was beloved no 

more. 
'T is an old tale, and often told ; 
But did my fate and wish 

agree, 
Ne'er had been read, in story 

old, 
Of maiden true betrayed for 

gold, 
That loved, or was avenged, 

like me ! 



128 



MARMION 



XXVIII 

* The king approved his favorite's 

aim; 
In vain a rival barred his claim, 
Whose fate with Clare's was 
plight, 520 

For he attaints that rival's fame 
With treason's charge — and on 
they came 
In mortal lists to fight. 
Their oaths are said, 
Their prayers are prayed, 
Their lances in the rest are 
laid, 
They meet in mortal shock ; 
And hark ! the throng, with thun- 
dering cry, 
Shout " Marmion, Marmion ! to 
the sky, 529 

De Wilton to the block ! " 
Say, ye who preach Heaven shall 

decide 
When in the lists two champions 
ride, 
Say, was Heaven's justice here ? 
When, loyal in his love and faith, 
Wilton found overthrow or death 

Beneath a traitor's spear ? 
How false the charge, how true he 

fell, 
This guilty packet best can tell.' 
Then drew a packet from her 

breast, 
Paused, gathered voice, and spoke 
the rest. 540 

XXIX 

• Still was false Marmion' s bridal 

stayed ; 
To Whitby's convent fled the 

maid, 
The hated match to shun. 
"Ho! shifts she thus?" King 

Henry cried, 
" Sir Marmion, she shall be thy 

bride, 
If she were sworn a nun." 
One way remained — the king's 

command 
Sent Marmion to the Scottish 

land; 



I lingered here, and rescue planned 
For Clara and for me: 550 

This caitiff monk for gold did 
swear 

He would to Whitby's shrine re- 
pair, 

And by his drugs my rival fair 
A saint in heaven should be ; 

But ill the dastard kept his oath, 

Whose cowardice hath undone us 
both. 

XXX 

1 And now my tongue the secret 

tells, 
Not that remorse my bosom swells, 
But to assure my soul that none 
Shall ever wed with Marmion. 560 
Had fortune my last hope be- 
trayed, 
This packet, to the king conveyed, 
Had given him to the headsman's 

stroke, 
Although my heart that instant 

broke. — 
Now, men of death, work forth 

your will, 
For I can suffer, and be still ; 
And come he slow, or come he 

fast, 
It is but Death who comes at 

last. 

XXXI 

4 Yet dread me from my living 

tomb, 
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome ! 
If Marmion' s late remorse should 

wake, 571 

Full soon such vengeance will he 

take 
That you shall wish the fiery Dane 
Had rather been your guest again. 
Behind, a darker hour ascends ! 
The altars quake, the crosier 

bends, 
The ire of a despotic king 
Rides forth upon destruction's 

wing ; 
Then shall these vaults, so strong 

and deep, 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD 



129 



Burst open to the sea - winds' 

sweep ; 580 

Some traveller then shall find my 

bones 
Whitening amid disjointed stones, 
And, ignorant of priests' cruelty. 
Marvel such relics here should be.' 

XXXII 

Fixed was her look and stern her 

air: 
Back from her shoulders streamed 

her hair ; 
The locks that wont her brow to 

shade 
Stared up erectly from her head ; 
Her figure seemed to rise more 

high; 
Her voice despair's wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 591 
Appalled the astonished conclave 

sate; 
With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the light inspired form, 
And listened for the avenging 

storm ; 
The judges felt the victim's dread ; 
No hand was moved, no word was 
said, 
Till thus the abbot's doom was 
given, 
Raising his sightless balls to hea- 
ven: 
1 Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 600 
Sinful brother, part in peace ! ' 
From that dire dungeon, place of 

doom, 
Of execution too, and tomb, 

Paced forth the judges three ; 
Sorrow it were and shame to tell 
The butcher-work that there be- 
fell, 
When they had glided from the 
cell 
Of sin and misery. 

XXXIII 

An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day ; 
But ere they breathed the fresher 
air 6n 



They heard the shriekings of de- 
spair, 
And many a stifled groan. 
With speed their upward way they 

take, — 
Such speed as age and fear can 

make, — 
And crossed themselves for ter- 
ror's sake, 
As hurrying, tottering on, 
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone 
They seemed to hear a dying 

groan, 
And bade the passing knell to toll 
For welfare of a parting soul. 62 1 
Slow o'er the midnight wave it 

swung, 
Northumbrian rocks in answer 

rung ; 
To Warkworth cell the echoes 

rolled, 
His beads the wakeful hermit 

told ; 
The Bamborough peasant raised 

his head, 
But slept ere half a prayer he said; 
So far was heard the mighty knell, 
The stag sprung up on Cheviot 

Fell, 
Spread his broad nostril to the 

wind, 630 

Listed before, aside, behind, 
Then couched him down beside 

the hind, 
And quaked among the mountain 

fern, 
To hear that sound so dull and 

stern. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
THIRD 

TO WILLIAM ERSKIXE, ESQ. 

Ashestielj Ettrick Forest 
Like April morning clouds, that 

pass 
With varying shadow o'er the 

grass, 
And imitate on field and furrow 



l 3° 



MARMION 



Life's checkered scene of joy and 

sorrow ; 
Like streamlet of the mountain 

north, 
Now in a torrent racing forth, 
Now winding slow its silver train, 
And almost slumbering on the 

plain ; 
Like breezes of the autumn day, 
Whose voice inconstant dies away, 
And ever swells again as fast 1 1 
When the ear deems its murmur 

past; 
Thus various, my romantic theme 
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning 

dream. 
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the 

trace 
Of Light and Shade's inconstant 

race; 
Pleased, views the rivulet afar, 
Weaving its maze irregular ; 
And pleased, we listen as the 

breeze 
Heaves its wild sigh through Au- 
tumn trees : 20 
Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or 

gale, 
Flow on, flow unconfined, my tale '! 

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell 
I love the license all too well, 
In sounds now lowly, and now 

strong, 
To raise the desultory song? 
Oft, when mid such capricious 

chime 
Some transient fit of loftier rhyme 
To thy kind judgment seemed ex- 
cuse 
For many an error of the muse, 30 
Oft hast thou said, ' If, still mis- 
spent, 
Thine hours to poetry are lent, 
Go, and to tame thy wandering 

course, 
Quaff from the fountain at the 

source ; 
Approach those masters o'er 

whose tomb 
Immortal laurels ever bloom : 



Instructive of the feebler bard, 

Still from the grave their voice is 
heard ; 

From them, and from the paths 
they showed, 

Choose honored guide and prac- 
tised road ; 40 

Nor ramble on through brake and 
maze, 

With harpers rude of barbarous 
days. 

4 Or deem'st thou not our later 

time 
Yields topic meet for classic 

rhyme ? 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 
For Brunswick's venerable 

hearse ? 
What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh, 
When valor bleeds for liberty? — 
Oh, hero of that glorious time, 
When, with unrivalled light sub- 
lime, — 50 
Though martial Austria, and 

though all 
The might of Russia, and the 

Gaul, 
Though banded Europe stood her 

foes — 
The star of Brandenburg arose ! 
Thou couldst not live to see her 

beam 
Forever quenched in Jena's 

stream. 
Lamented chief! — it was not 

given 
To thee to change the doom of 

Heaven, 
And crush that dragon in its birth, 
Predestined scourge of guilty 

earth. 60 

Lamented chief ! — not thine the 

power 
To save in that presumptuous hour 
When Prussia hurried to the field, 
And snatched the spear, but left 

the shield ! 
Valor and skill 't was thine to try, 
And, tried in vain, 't was thine to 

die. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD 



131 



111 had it seemed thy silver hair 
The last, the bitterest pang to 

share, 
For princedoms reft, and scutch- 
eons riven, 
And birthrights to usurpers given ; 
Thy land's, thy children's wrongs 
to feel, 71 

And witness woes thou couldst 

not heal ! 
On thee relenting Heaven bestows 
For honored life an honored close ; 
And when revolves, in time's sure 

change, 
The hour of Germany's revenge, 
When, breathing fury for her sake, 
Some new Arminius shall awake, 
Her champion, ere he strike, shall 

come 
To whet his sword on Bruns- 
wick's tomb, 80 

4 Or of the Red-Cross hero teach, 
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach. 
Alike to him the sea, the shore, 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar : 
Alike to him the war that calls 
Its votaries to the shattered walls 
Which the gfim Turk, besmeared 

with blood, 
Against the Invincible made good; 
Or that w r hose thundering voice 

could wake 
The silence of the polar lake, go 
When stubborn Russ and mettled 

Swede 
On the warped wave their death- 
game played ; 
Or that where Vengeance and 

Affright 
Howled round the father of the 

fight, 
Who snatched on Alexandria's 

sand 
The conqueror's wreath with dying 

hand. 

' Or, if to touch such chord be 
thine, 
Restore the ancient tragic line, 
And emulate the notes that rung 



From the wild harp which silent 
hung 100 

By silver Avon's holy shore 

Till twice an hundred years rolled 
o'er; 

When she, the bold Enchantress, 
came, 

With fearless hand and heart on 
flame, 

From the pale willow snatched 
the treasure, 

And swept it with a kindred mea- 
sure, 

Till Avon's swans, while rung the 
grove 

With Montfort's hate and Basil's 
love, 

Awakening at the inspired strain, 

Deemed their own Shakespeare 
lived again.' no 

Thy friendship thus thy judg- 
ment wronging 

With praises not to me belong- 
ing, 

In task more meet for mightiest 
powers 

Wouldst thou engage my thrift- 
less hours. 

But say, my Erskine, hast thou 
weighed 

That secret power by all obeyed, 

Which w r arps not less the passive 
mind, 

Its source concealed or undefined ; 

Whether an impulse, that has 
birth no 

Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 

One with our feelings and our 
powers, 

And rather part of us than ours ; 

Or whether fitlier termed the 
sway 

Of habit, formed in early day ? 

Howe'er derived, its force con- 
fessed 

Rules with despotic sway the 
breast, 

And drags us on by viewless chain, 

While taste and reason plead in 
vain, 



132 



MARMION 



Look east, and ask the Belgian 
why, 

Beneath Batavia's sultry sky, 130 

He seeks not eager to inhale 

The freshness of the mountain 
gale, 

Content to rear his whitened wall 

Beside the dank and dull canal ? 

He '11 say, from youth he loved to 
see 

The white sail gliding by the tree. 

Or see yon weather-beaten hind, 

Whose sluggish herds before him 
wind, 

Whose tattered plaid and rugged 
cheek 

His northern clime and kindred 
speak ; 140 

Through England's laughing 
meads he goes, 

And England's wealth around him 
flows; 

Ask if it would content him well, 

At ease in those gay plains to 
dwell, 

Where hedge-rows spread a ver- 
dant screen, 

And spires and forests intervene, 

And the neat cottage peeps be- 
tween? 

No! not for these will he ex- 
change 

His dark Lochaber's boundless 
range, 

Not for fair Devon's meads for- 
sake 150 

Ben Nevis gray and Garry's lake. 

Thus while I ape the measure 
wild 

Of tales that charmed me yet a 
child, 

Rude though they be, still with 
the chime 

Return the thoughts of early time ; 

And feelings, roused in life's first 
day, 

Glow in the line and prompt the 
lay. 

Then rise those crags, that moun- 
tain tower, 



Which charmed my fancy's waken- 
ing hour. 
Though no broad river swept 

along, 160 

To claim, perchance, heroic song, 
Though sighed no groves in sum- 
mer gale, 
To prompt of love a softer tale, 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's 

speed 
Claimed homage from a shepherd's 

reed, 
Yet was poetic impulse given 
By the green hill and clear blue 

heaven. 
It was a barren scene and wild, 
Where naked cliffs were rudely 

piled, 
But ever and anon between 170 
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wall-flower 

grew, 
And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruined wall. 
I deemed such nooks the sweetest 

shade 
The sun in all its round surveyed ; 
And still I thought that shattered 

tower 
The mightiest work of human 

power, 
And marvelled as the aged hind 180 
With some strange tale bewitched 

my mind 
Of forayers, who with headlong 

force 
Down from that strength had 

spurred their horse, 
Their southern rapine to renew 
Far in the distant Cheviots blue, 
And, home returning, filled the 

hall 
With revel, wassail - rout, and 

brawl. 
Methought that still with trump 

and clang 
The gateway's broken arches 

rang ; 
Methought grim features, seamed 

with scars, 190 



CANTO THIRD 



133 



Glared through the window's rusty 

bars, 
And ever, by the winter hearth, 
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, 
Of lovers' sleights, of ladies' 

charms, 
Of witches' spells, of warriors' 

arms; 
Of patriot battles, won of old 
By Wallace wight and Bruce the 

bold; 
Of later fields of feud and fight, 
When, pouring from their High- ! 

land height, 
The Scottish clans in headlong 

sway 200 

Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 
While stretched at length upon 

the floor, 
Again I fought each combat o'er, 
Pebbles and shells, in order laid, 
The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 
And onward still the Scottish 

Lion bore, 
And still the scattered Southron 

fled before. 

Still, with vain fondness, could 

I trace 
Anew each kind familiar face 
That brightened at our evening 

fire ! 210 j 

From the thatched mansion's gray- | 

haired sire, 
Wise without learning, plain and 

good, 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler 

blood ; 
Whose eye in age, quick, clear, 

and keen, 
Showed what in youth its glance 

had been ; 
Whose doom discording neighbors 

sought, 
Content with equity unbought; 
To him the venerable priest, 
Our frequent and familiar guest, 
Whose life and manners well could 

paint 220 

Alike the student and the saint, 
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 



With gambol rude and timeless 
joke : 

For I was wayward, bold, and 
wild, 

A self-willed imp, a grandame's 
child, 

But half a plague, and half a jest, 

Was still endured, beloved, ca- 
ressed. 

From me, thus nurtured, dost 
thou ask 

The classic poet's well -conned 
task? 

Nay, Erskine, nay — on the wild 
hill 230 

Let tl)£ wild heath-bell flourish 
still ; 

Cherish the tulip, prune the vine, 

But freely let the woodbine twine 

And leave untrimmed the eglan- 
tine : 

Xay, my friend, nay — since oft 
thy praise 

Hath given fresh vigor to my lays, 

Since oft thy judgment could re- 
fine 

My flattened thought or cumbrous 
line, 

Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, 

And in the minstrel spare the 
friend. 240 

Though wild as cloud, as stream, 
as gale, 

Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my 
tale! 



CANTO THIRD 

THE HOSTEL, OR IXN 



The livelong day Lord Marmion 

rode ; 
The mountain path the Palmer 

showed 
By glen and streamlet winded 

still, 
Where stunted birches hid the 

rill. 



134 



MARMION 



They might not choose the low- 
land road, 
For the Merse forayers were 

abroad, 
Who, fired with hate and thirst of 

prey, 
Had scarcely failed to bar their 

way. 
Oft on the trampling band from 

crown 
Of some tall cliff the deer looked 

down ; 10 

On wing of jet from his repose 
In the deep heath the blackcock 

rose; 
Sprung from the gorse the timid 

roe, 
Nor waited for the bending bow ; 
And when the stony path began 
By which the naked peak they 

wan, 
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
The noon had long been passed 

before 
They gained the height of Lam- 

mermoor; 
Thence winding down the northern 

way, 20 

Before them at the close of day 
Old Gifford's towers and hamlet 

lay. 

11 

No summons calls them to the 

tower, 
To spend the hospitable hour. 
To Scotland's camp the lord was 

gone ; 
His cautious dame, in bower alone, 
Dreaded her castle to unclose, 
So late, to unknown friends or 

foes. 
On through the hamlet as they 

paced, 
Before a porch whose front was 

graced 30 

With bush and flagon trimly 

placed, 
Lord Marmion drew his rein : 
The village inn seemed large, 

though rude ; 



Its cheerful fire and hearty food 

Might well relieve his train. 
Down from their seats the horse- 
men sprung, 
With jingling spurs the court-yard 

rung ; 
They bind their horses to the stall, 
For forage, food, and firing call, 
And various clamor fills the hall : 
Weighing the labor with the 

COSt, 41 

Toils everywhere the bustling 
host. 

in 

Soon, by the chimney's merry 

blaze, 
Through the rude hostel might you 

gaze, 
Might see where in dark nc^k 

aloof 
The rafters of the sooty roof 

Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 
Of sea -fowl dried, and solands 

store, 
And gammons of the tusky boar, 

And savory haunch of deer. 50 
The chimney arch projected wide ; 
Above, around it, and beside, 

Were tools for housewives' hand; 
Nor wanted, in that martial day, 
The implements of Scottish fray, 
The buckler, lance, and brand. 
Beneath its shade, the place of 

state, 
On oaken settle Marmion sate, 
And viewed around the blazing 

hearth 
His followers mix in noisy mirth ; 
Whom with brown ale, in jolly 

tide, 61 

From ancient vessels ranged aside 
Full actively their host supplied. 

IV 

Theirs was the glee of martial 

breast, 
And laughter theirs at little jest ; 
And oft Lord Marmion deigned to 

aid, 
And mingle in the mirth they 

made ; 



CANTO THIRD 



135 



For though, with men of high de- 
gree, 
The proudest of the proud was he, 
Yet, trained in camps, he knew the 
art 70 

To win the soldiers' hardy heart. 
They love a captain to obey, 
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as 

May ; 
With open hand and brow as free, 
Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; 
Ever the first to scale a tower, 
As venturous in a lady's bower: — 
Such buxom chief shall lead his 

host 
From India's fires to Zembla's 
frost. 



Resting upon his pilgrim staff, So 

Right opposite the Palmer stood, 

His thin dark visage seen but half, 

Half hidden by his hood. 
Still fixed on Marmion was his 

look, 
Which he, who ill such gaze could 
brook, 
Strove by a frown to quell ; 
But not for that, though more 

than once 
Full met their stern encountering 
glance, 
The Palmer's visage fell. 

VI 

By fits less frequent from the 

crowd 90 

Was heard the burst of laughter 

loud ; 
For still, as squire and archer 

stared 
On that dark face and matted 

beard, 
Their glee and game declined. 
All gazed at length in silence 

drear, 
Unbroke save when in comrade's 

ear 
Some yeoman, wondering in his 

fear, 
Thus whispered forth his mind ; 



1 Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such 

sight? 
How pale his cheek, his eye how 

bright, 100 

Whene'er the firebrand's fickle 

light 
Glances beneath his cowl ! 
Full on our lord he sets his eye ; 
For his best palfrey would not I 
Endure that sullen scowl/ 

VII 

But Marmion, as to chase the awe 
Which thus had quelled their 

hearts who saw 
The ever-varying firelight show 
That figure stern and face of woe, 

Now called upon a squire : no 
' Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not 

some lay, 
To speed the lingering night away ? 

We slumber by the fire.' 

VIII 

1 So please you,' thus the youth re- 
joined, 
' Our choicest minstrel 's left be- 
hind. 
Ill may we hope to please your ear, 
Accustomed Constant's strains to 

hear. 
The harp full deftly can he strike, 
And wake the lover's lute alike : 
To dear Saint Valentine no 
thrush 120 

Sings livelier from a springtide 

bush, 
Xo nightingale her lovelorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be, 
Detains from us his melody, 
Lavished on rocks and billows 

stern, 
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne. 
Now must I venture as I may, 
To sing his favorite roundelay.* 

IX 

A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, 
The air he chose was wild and sad ; 
Such have I heard in Scottish land 



136 



MARMION 



Rise from the busy harvest hand, 
When falls before the mountaineer 
On Lowland plains the ripened ear. 
Now one shrill voice the notes pro- 
long, 
Now a wild chorus swells the 

song : 
Oft have I listened and stood still 
As it came softened up the hill, 
And deemed it the lament of men 
Who languished for their native 

glen, 141 

And thought how sad would be 

such sound 
On Susquehanna's swampy 

ground, 
Kentucky's wood - encumbered 

brake, 
Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, 
Where heart-sick exiles in the 

strain 
Recalled fair Scotland's hills 

again ! 



SONG 

Where shall the lover rest, 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast, 150 

Parted forever? 
Where, through groves deep and 
high, 

Sounds the far billow, 
Where early violets die, 

Under the willow. 

CHORUS 

Eleu loro, etc. Soft shall be his 
pillow. 

There, through the summer day, 

Cool streams are laving ; 
There, while the tempests sway, 

Scarce are boughs waving ; 160 
There thy rest shalt thou take, 

Parted forever, 
Never again to wake, 

Never, O never ! 

CHORUS 

Eleu loro, etc. Never, never ! 



XI 

Where shall the traitor rest, 

He the deceiver, 
Who could win maiden's breast, 

Ruin and leave her ? 
In the lost battle, 170 

Borne down by the flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying. 

CHORUS 

Eleu loro, etc. There shall he be 
lying. 

Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall 7 ap, 

Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonor sit 

By his grave ever ; 180 

Blessing shall hallow it,— 

Never, O never ! 

CHORUS 

Eleu loro, etc. Never, O never ! 

XII 

It ceased, the melancholy sound, 
And silence sunk on all around. 
The air was sad ; but sadder still 

It fell on Marmion's ear, 
And plained as if disgrace and ill, 

And shameful death, were near. 
He drew his mantle past his face, 

Between it and the band, 191 
And rested with his head a space 

Reclining on his hand. 
His thoughts I scan not; but I 

ween 
That, could their import have been 

seen, 
The meanest groom in all the hall, 
That e'er tied courser to a stall, 
Would scarce have wished to be 

their prey, 
For Lutterward and Fontenaye. 

XIII 

High minds, of native pride and 
force, 200 

Most deeply feel thy pangs, Re- 
morse ! 



CANTO THIRD 



*37 



Fear for their scourge mean vil- 
lains have, 
Thou art the torturer of the brave ! 
Yet fatal strength they boast to 

steel 
Their minds to bear the wounds 

they feel, 
Even while they writhe beneath 

the smart 
Of civil conflict in the heart. 
For soon Lord Marmion raised his 

head, 
And smiling to Fitz-Eustace said : 
1 Is it not strange that, as ye sung, 
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal 

rung, 211 

Such as in nunneries they toll 
For some departing sister's soul? 

Say, what may this portend ? ' 
Then first the Palmer silence 

broke,— 
The livelong day he had not 

spoke,— 
4 The death of a dear friend.' 

xrv 

Marmion, whose steady heart and 
eye 

Ne'er changed in worst extrem- 
ity, 

Marmion, whose soul could scantly 
brook 220 

Even from his king a haughty 
look, 

Whose accent of command con- 
trolled 

In camps the boldest of the bold — 

Thought, look, and utterance 
failed him now, 

Fallen was his glance and flushed 
his brow; 
For either in the tone, 

Or something in the Palmer's look, 

So full upon his conscience strook 
That answer he found none. 

Thus oft it haps that when with- 
in 230 

They shrink at sense of secret sin, 
A feather daunts the brave ; 

A fool's wild speech confounds the 
wise, 



And proudest princes vail their 
eyes 
Before their meanest slave. 

xv 

Well might he falter ! — By his aid 
Was'Constance Beverley betrayed. 
Not that he augured of the doom 
Which on the living closed the 
tomb : 

hear the desperate 

240 

turns, beseech, up- 



But, 



tired to 

maid 
Threaten by 

braid, 
And wroth because in wild despair 
She practised on the life of Clare, 
Its fugitive the Church he gave, 
Though not a victim, but a slave, 
And deemed restraint in convent 

strange 
Would hide her wrongs and her 

revenge. 
Himself, proud Henry's favorite 

peer, 
Held Romish thunders idle fear ; 
Secure his pardon he might hold 
For some slight mulct of penance- 
gold. 251 
Thus judging, he gave secret way 
When the stern priests surprised 

their prey. 
His train but deemed the favorite 

page 
Was left behind to spare his age ; 
Or other if they deemed, none 

dared 
To mutter what he thought and 

heard : 
Woe to the vassal who durst pry 
Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! 

XVI 

His conscience slept — he deemed 
her well, 260 

And safe secured in distant cell ; 
But, wakened by her favorite lay, 
And that strange Palmer's boding 

say 
That fell so ominous and drear 
Full on the object of his fear, 
To aid remorse's venomed throes, 



138 



MARMION 



Dark tales of convent-vengeance 
rose ; 

And Constance, late betrayed and 
scorned, 

All lovely on his soul returned; . 

Lovely as when at treacherous 
call 270 

She left her convent's peaceful 
wall, 

Crimsoned with shame, with ter- 
ror mute, 

Dreading alike escape, pursuit, 

Till love, victorious o'er alarms, 

Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 

XVII 

1 Alas l ' he thought, * how changed 

that mien ! 
How changed these timid looks 

have been, 
Since years of guilt and of disguise 
Have steeled her brow and armed 

her eyes ! 279 

No more of virgin terror speaks 
The blood that mantles in her 

cheeks ; 
Fierce and unfeminine are there, 
Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ; 
And I the cause — for whom were 

given 
Her peace on earth, her hopes in 

heaven ! — 
Would,' thought he, as the picture 

grows, 
4 1 on its stalk had left the rose ! 
Oh, why should man's success re- 
move 
The very charms that wake his 

love?— 289 

Her convent's peaceful solitude 
Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 
And, pent within the narrow cell, 
How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 
How brook the stern monastic 

laws ! 
The penance how — and I the 

cause ! — 
Vigil and scourge — perchance 

even worse ! ' 
And twice he rose to cry, 'To 

horse 1 ' 



And twice his sovereign's mandate 

came, 
Like damp upon a kindling flame ; 
And twice he thought, ' Gave I not 

charge 300 

She should be safe, though not at 

large ? 
They durst not, for their island, 

shred 
One golden ringlet from her head.' 

XVIII 

While thus in Marmion's bosom 

strove 
Repentance and reviving love, 
Like whirlwinds whose contend- 
ing sway 
1 've seen Loch Vennachar obey, 
Their host the Palmer's speech 

had heard, 
And talkative took up the word: 
4 Ay, reverend pilgrim, you who 

stray 310 

From Scotland's simple land 

away, 
To visit realms afar, 
Full often learned the art to 

know 
Of future weal or future woe, 
By word, or sign, or star ; 
Yet might a knight his fortune 

hear, 
If, knight-like, he despises fear, 
Not far from hence; — if fathers 

old 
Aright our hamlet legend told.' 
These broken words the menials 

move,— 320 

For marvels still the vulgar love,— 
And, Marmion giving license cold, 
His tale the host thus gladly 

told: — 

XIX 

THE HOST'S TALE 

' A clerk could tell what years 

have flown 
Since Alexander filled our throne, — 
Third monarch of that warlike 

name,— 



CANTO THIRD 



139 



And eke the time when here he 

came 
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : 
A braver never drew a sword; 
A wiser never, at the hour 330 
Of midnight, spoke the word of 

power ; 
The same whom ancient records 

call 
The founder of the Goblin-Hall. 
I would, Sir Knight, your longer 

stay 
Gave you that cavern to survey. 
Of lofty roof and ample size, 
Beneath the castle deep it lies : 
To hew the living rock profound, 
The floor to pave, the arch to 

round, 339 i 

There never toiled a mortal arm, 
It all was wrought by word and | 

charm ; 
And I have heard my grandsire 

say 
That the wild clamor and affray 
Of those dread artisans of hell, 
Who labored under Hugo's spell, 
Sounded as loud as ocean's war 
Among the caverns of Dunbar. 

xx 

'The king Lord Gifford's castle 

sought, 
Deep laboring with uncertain 

thought. 
Even then he mustered all his 

host, 35° 

To meet upon the western coast; 
For Norse and Danish galleys 

plied 
Their oars within the Firth of 

Clyde. 
There floated Haco's banner trim 
Above Norweyan warriors grim, 
Savage of heart and large of limb, 
Threatening both continent and 

isle, 
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and 

Kyle. 
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the 

ground, 359 

Heard Alexander's bugle sound, 



And tarried not his garb to change 
But, in his wizard habit strange, 
Came forth, — a quaint and fearful 

sight : 
His mantle lined with fox-skins 

white ; 
His high and wrinkled forehead 

bore 
A pointed cap, such as of yore 
Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi 

wore; 
His shoes were marked with cross 

and spell, 
Upon his breast a pentacle ; 369 
His zone of virgin parchment thin, 
Or, as some tell, of dead man's 

skin, 
Bore many a planetary sign, 
Combust, and retrograde, and 

trine ; 
And in his hand he held prepared 
A naked sword without a guard. 

XXI 

'Dire dealings with the fiendish 

race 
Had marked strange lines upon 

his face ; 
Vigil and fast had worn him grim, 
His eyesight dazzled seemed and 

dim, 
As one unused to upper day ; 380 
Even his own menials with dismay 
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly sire 
In this unwonted wild attire; 
Unwonted, for traditions run 
He seldom thus beheld the sun. 
" I know," he said, — his voice was 

hoarse, 
And broken seemed its hollow 

force,— 
'' I know the cause, although un- 
told, 
Why the king seeks his vassal's 

hold: 
Vainly from me my liege would 

know 390 

His kingdom's future weal or woe ; 
But yet, if strong his arm and 

heart, 
His courage may do more than art. 



140 



MARMION 



XXII 

'" Of middle air the demons proud, 
Who ride upon the racking cloud, 
Can read in fixed or wandering 

star 
The issue of events afar, 
But still their sullen aid withhold, 
Save when by mightier force con- 
trolled. 399 
Such late I summoned to my hall ; 
And though so potent was the call 
That scarce the deepest nook of 

hell 
I deemed a refuge from the spell, 
Yet, obstinate in silence still, 
The haughty demon mocks my 

skill. 
But thou, — who little know'st thy 

might 
As born upon that blessed night 
When yawning graves and dying 

groan 
Proclaimed hell's empire over- 
thrown, — 409 
With untaught valor shalt compel 
Response denied to magic spell." 
" Gramercy," quoth our monarch 

free, 
" Place him but front to front with 

me, 
And, by this good and honored 

brand, 
The gift of Cceur-de-Lion's hand, 
Soothly I swear that, tide what 

tide, 
The demon shall a buffet bide." 
His bearing bold the wizard 

viewed, 
And thus, well pleased, his speech 

renewed : 
44 There spoke the blood of Mal- 
colm!— mark: 420 
Forth pacing hence at midnight 

dark, 
The rampart seek whose circling 

crown 
Crests the ascent of yonder down : 
A southern entrance shalt thou 

find; 
There halt, and there thy bugle 
wind, 



And trust thine elfin foe to see 
In guise of thy worst enemy. 
Couch then thy lance and spur thy 

steed — 
Upon him ! and Saint George to 

speed ! 
If he go down, thou soon shalt 

know 430 

Whate'er these airy sprites can 

show; 
If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 
I am no warrant for thy life." 

XXIII 

1 Soon as the midnight bell did 

ring, 
Alone and armed, forth rode the 

king 
To that old camp's deserted round. 
Sir Knight, you well might mark 

the mound 
Left hand the town, — the Pictish 

race 
The trench, long since, in blood 

did trace ; 
The moor around is brown and 

bare, 440 

The space within is green and fair. 
The spot our village children know, 
For there the earliest wild-flowers 

grow ; 
But woe betide the wandering 

wight 
That treads its circle in the night ! 
The breadth across, a bowshot 

clear, 
Gives ample space for full career; 
Opposed to the four points of hea- 
ven, 
By four deep gaps are entrance 

given. 
The southernmost our monarch 

passed, 450 

Halted, and blew a gallant blast ; 
And on the north, within the ring, 
Appeared the form of England's 

king, 
Who then, a thousand leagues afar, 
In Palestine waged holy war : 
Yet arms like England's did he 

wield ; 



CANTO THIRD 



Ui 



Alike the leopards in the shield, 
Alike his Syrian courser's frame, 
The rider's length of limb the same. 
Long afterwards did Scotland 

know 460 

Fell Edward was her deadliest 

foe. 

XXIV 

1 The vision made our monarch 

start, 
But soon he manned his noble 

heart, 
And in the first career they ran, 
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and 

man; 
Yet did a splinter of his lance 
Through Alexander's visor glance 
And razed the skin — a puny 

wound. 
The king, light leaping to the 

ground, 469 

With naked blade his phantom 

foe 
Compelled the future war to show. 
Of Largs he saw the glorious 

plain, 
Where still gigantic bones remain 

Memorial of the Danish war ; 
Himself he saw, amid the field, 
On high his brandished war-axe 

wield 
And strike proud Haco from his 

car, 
While all around the shadowy 

kings 
Denmark's grim ravens cowered 

their wings. 479 

'T is said that in that awful night 
Remoter visions met his sight, 
Foreshowing future conquest far, 
When our sons' sons wage North- 
ern war; 
A royal city, tower and spire, 
Reddened the midnight sky with 

fire, 
And shouting crews her navy bore 
Triumphant to the victor shore. 
Such signs may learned clerks 

explain, 
They pass the wit of simple swain. 



XXV 

'The joyful king turned home 

again, 490 

Headed his host, and quelled the 

Dane; 
But yearly, when returned the 

night 
Of his strange combat with the 
sprite, 
His wound must bleed and 
smart ; 
Lord Gifford then would gibing 

say, 
" Bold as ye were, my liege, ye 
pay 
The penance of your start." 
■ Long since, beneath Dunfermline's 
nave, 
King Alexander fills his grave. 
Our Lady give him rest ! 500 
: Yet still the knightly spear and 
shield 
The Elfin W r arrior doth wield 

Upon the brown hill's breast, 
And many a knight hath proved 

his chance 
In the charmed ring to break a 
lance, 
But all have foully sped ; 
Save two, as legends tell, and they 
Were Wallace wight and Gilbert 
Hay.— 
Gentles, my tale is said.' 

XXVI 

The quaighs were deep, the liquor 
strong, 510 

And on the tale the yeoman-throng 
Had made a comment sage and 
long, 
But Marmion gave a sign : 
, And with their lord the squires 
retire, 
The rest around the hostel fire 
Their drowsy limbs recline ; 
For pillow, underneath each head, 
j The quiver and the targe were laid, 
! Deep slumbering on the hostel 
floor, 
Oppressed with toil and ale, they 
snore; 520 



142 



MARMION 



The dying flame, in fitful change, 
Threw on the group its shadows 
strange. 

XXVII 

Apart, and nestling in the hay 
Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; 
Scarce by the pale moonlight were 

seen 
The foldings of his mantle green : 
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will 

dream, 
Of sport by thicket, or by stream, 
Of hawk or hound, or ring or glove, 
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 530 
A cautious tread his slumber 

broke, 
And, close beside him when he 

woke, 
In moonbeam half, and half in 

gloom, 
Stood a tall form with nodding 

plume ; 
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew, 
His master Marmion's voice he 

knew : 

XXVIII 

* Fitz-Eustace ! rise, — I cannot 

rest; 
Yon churl's wild legend haunts my 

breast, 
And graver thoughts have chafed 

my mood ; 
The air must cool my feverish 

blood, 540 

And fain would I ride forth to 

see 
The scene of elfin chivalry. 
Arise, and saddle me my steed ; 
And, gentle Eustace, take good 

heed 
Thou dost not rouse these drowsy 

slaves ; 
I would not that the prating knaves 
Had cause for saying, o'er their 

ale, 
That I could credit such a tale.' 
Then softly down the steps they 

slid, 
Eustace the stable door undid, 550 



And, darkling, Marmion's steed 

arrayed, 
While, whispering, thus the baron 

said : — 

XXIX 

1 Didst never, good my youth, hear 

tell 
That on the hour w T hen I was 

born 
! Saint George, who graced my sire's 

chapelle, 
I Down from his steed of marble 

fell, 
A weary wight forlorn ? 
j The flattering chaplains all agree, 
The champion left his steed to me. 
I would, the omen's truth to 

show, 560 

That I could meet this elfin foe ! 
Blithe would I battle for the right 
To ask one question at the 

sprite. — 
Vain thought! for elves, if elves 

there be, 
An empty race, by fount or sea 
To dashing waters dance and sing, 
Or round the green oak wheel 

their ring.' 
Thus speaking, he his steed be- 
strode, 
And from the hostel slowly rode. 

XXX 

Fitz - Eustace followed him 
abroad, 570 

And marked him pace the village 
road, 
And listened to his horse's 
tramp, 
Till, by the lessening sound, 
He judged that of the Pictish 
camp 
Lord Marmion sought the 
round. 
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's 

eyes, 
That one, so wary held and 

wise, — 
Of whom 't was said, he scarce re- 
ceived 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH 



H3 



For gospel what the Church be- 
lieved, — 

Should, stirred by idle tale, 580 
Ride forth in silence of the night, 
As hoping half to meet a sprite, 

Arrayed in plate and mail. 
For little did Fitz-Eustace know 
That passions in contending flow 

Unfix the strongest mind ; 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to 

flee, 
We welcome fond credulity, 

Guide confident, though blind. 

XXXI 

Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared, 
But patient waited till he heard 
At distance, pricked to utmost 

speed, 
The foot-tramp of a flying steed 

Come townward rushing on ; 
First, dead, as if on turf it trode, 
Then, clattering on the village 

road, — 
In other pace than forth he yode, 

Returned Lord Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from selle, 
And in his haste wellnigh he 

fell ; 600 

To the squire's hand the rein he 

threw, 
And spoke no word as he with- 
drew: 
But yet the moonlight did betray 
The falcon-crest was soiled with 

clay; 
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace 

see, 
By stains upon the charger's knee 
And his left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his footing sure. 
Long musing on these wondrous 

signs, 
At length to rest the squire re- 
clines, 610 
Broken and short ; for still be- 
tween 
Would dreams of terror intervene : 
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
The first notes of the morning 
lark. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
FOURTH 

TO JAMES SKENE, ESQ. 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest 

An ancient Minstrel sagely said, 
4 Where is the life which late we 

led?' 
That motley clown in Arden wood, 
Whom humorous Jaques with 

envy viewed, 
Not even that clown could amplify 
On this trite text so long as I. 
Eleven years we now may tell 
Since we have known each other 

well, 
Since, riding side by side, our hand 
First drew the voluntary brand ; 10 
And sure, through many a varied 

scene, 
Unkindness never came between. 
Away these winged years have 

flown, 
To join the mass of ages gone ; 
And though deep marked, like all 

below, 
With checkered shades of joy and 

woe, 
Though thou o'er realms and seas 

hast ranged, 
Marked cities lost and empires 

changed, 
While here at home my narrower 

ken 
Somewhat of manners saw and 

men; 20 

Though varying wishes, hopes, 

and fears 
Fevered the progress of these 

years, 
Yet now, days, weeks, and months 

but seem 
The recollection of a dream, 
So still we glide down to the sea 
Of fathomless eternity. 

Even now it scarcely seems a 
day 
Since first I tuned this idle lay ; 
A task so often thrown aside, 



144 



MARMION 



When leisure graver eares de- 
nied, 30 
That now November's dreary gale, 
Whose voice inspired my opening 

tale, 
That same November gale once 

more 
Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow 

shore. 
Their vexed boughs streaming to 

the sky, 
Once more our naked birches sigh, 
And Blackhouse heights and Et- 

trick Pen 
Have donned their wintry shrouds 

again, 
And mountain dark and flooded 

mead 
Bid us forsake the banks of 

Tweed. 40 

Earlier than wont along the sky, 
Mixed with the rack, the snow 

mists fly ; 
The shepherd who, in summer 

sun, 
Had something of our envy won, 
As thou with pencil, I with pen, 
The features traced of hill and 

glen, — 
He who, outstretched the livelong 

day, 
At ease among the heath-flowers 

lay, 
Viewed the light clouds with va- 
cant look, 
Or slumbered o'er his tattered 

book, 50 

Or idly busied him to guide 
His angle o'er the lessened tide, — 
At midnight now the snowy plain 
Finds sterner labor for the swain. 

When red hath set the beamless 

sun 
Through heavy vapors dank and 

dun, 
When the tired ploughman, dry 

and warm, 
Hears, half asleep, the rising 

storm 
Hurling the hail and sleeted rain 



Against the casement's tinkling 
pane ; 60 

The sounds that drive wild deer 
and fox 

To shelter in the brake and rocks 

Are warnings which the shepherd 
ask 

To dismal and to dangerous task. 

Oft he looks forth, a r »d hopes, in 
vain, 

The blast may sink in mellowing 
rain ; 

Till, dark above and white below, 

Decided drives the flaky snow, 

And forth the hardy swain must go. 

Long, with dejected look and 
whine, 70 

To leave the hearth his dogs re- 
pine ; 

Whistling and cheering them to 
aid, 

Around his back he wreathes the 
plaid: 

His flock he gathers and he guides 

To open downs and mountain- 
sides, 

Where fiercest though the tem- 
pest blow, 

Least deeply lies the drift below. 

The blast that whistles o'er the 
fells 

Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 

Oft he looks back while, stream- 
ing far, 80 

His cottage window seems a 
star, — 

Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 

Turns patient to the blast again, 

And, facing to the tempest's 
sweep, 

Drives through the gloom his lag- 
ging sheep. 

If fails his heart, if his limbs fail, 

Benumbing death is in the gale ; 

His paths, his landmarks, all un- 
known, 

Close to the hut, no more his own, 

Close to the aid he sought in 
vain, 90 

The morn may find the stiffened 
swain : 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH 



MS 



The widow sees, at dawning pale, 
His orphans raise their feeble 

wail; 
And, close beside him in the snow, 
Poor Yarrow, partner of their 

woe, 
Couches upon his master's breast, 
And licks his cheek to break his 

rest. 

Who envies now the shepherd's 

lot, 
His healthy fare, his rural cot, 
His summer couch by greenwood 

tree, 100 

His rustic kirn's loud revelry, 
His native hill -notes tuned on 

high 
To Marmion of the blithesome eye, 
His crook, his scrip, his oaten 

reed, 
And all Arcadia's golden creed ? 

Changes not so with us, my 

Skene, 
Of human life the varying scene ? 
Our youthful summer oft we see 
Dance by on wings of game and 

glee, 
While the dark storm reserves its 

rage 1 10 

Against the winter of our age ; 
As he, the ancient chief of Troy, 
His manhood spent in peace and 

joy, 
But Grecian fires and loud alarms 
Called ancient Priam forth to 

arms. 
Then happy those, since each 

must drain 
His share of pleasure, share of 

pain, — 
Then happy those, beloved of 

Heaven, 
To whom the mingled cup is given ; 
Whose lenient sorrows find re- 
lief, 120 
Whose joys are chastened by their 

grief. 
And such a lot, my Skene, was 

thine, 



When thou of late wert doomed to 

twine — 
Just when thy bridal hour was 

by- 
The cypress with the myrtle tie. 
Just on thy bride her sire had 

smiled, 
And blessed the union of his child, 
When love must change its joyous 

cheer, 
And wipe affection's filial tear. 
Nor did the actions next his end 
Speak more the father than the 

friend: 131 

Scarce had lamented Forbes paid 
The tribute to his minstrel's 

shade, 
The tale of friendship scarce was 

told, 
Ere the narrator's heart was 

cold — 
Far may we search before we find 
A heart so manly and so kind ! 
But not around his honored urn 
Shall friends alone and kindred 

mourn ; 
The thousand eyes his care had 

dried 140 

Pour at his name a bitter tide, 
And frequent falls the grateful 

dew 
For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Inscribe above his mouldering 

clay, 
1 The widow's shield, the orphan's 

stay.' 
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, 

deem 
My verse intrudes on this sad 

theme, 
For sacred was the pen that 

wrote, 150 

'Thy father's friend forget thou 

not;' 
And grateful title may I plead, 
For many a kindly word and deed, 
To bring my tribute to his 

grave : — 
'T is little — but 't is all I have. 



146 



MARMION 



To thee, perchance, this ram- 
bling strain 

Recalls our summer walks again ; 

When, doing nought, — and, to 
speak true, 

Not anxious to find aught to do, — 

The wild unbounded hills we 
ranged, 160 

While oft our talk its topic 
changed, 

And, desultory as our way, 

Ranged unconfined from grave to 
gay. 

Even when it flagged, as oft will 
chance, 

No effort made to break its trance, 

We could right pleasantly pur- 
sue 

Our sports in social silence too ; 

Thou gravely laboring to por- 
tray 

The blighted oak's fantastic spray, 

I spelling o'er with much de- 
light 

The legend of that antique 
knight, 171 

Tirante by name, ycleped the 
White. 

At either' s feet a trusty squire, 

Pandour and Camp, with eyes of 
fire, 

Jealous each other's motions 
viewed, 

And scarce suppressed their an- 
cient feud. 

The laverock whistled from the 
cloud ; 

The stream was lively, but not 
loud ; 

From the white thorn the May- 
flower shed 

Its dewy fragrance round our 
head : 180 

Not Ariel lived more merrily 

Under the blossomed bough than 
we. 

And blithesome nights, too, have 
been ours, 
When Winter stript the Summer's 
bowers. 



Careless we heard, what now I 
hear, 

The wild blast sighing deep and 
drear, 

When fires were bright and lamps 
beamed gay, 

And ladies tuned t^e lovely lay, 

And he was held a laggard soul 

Who shunned to quaff the spar- 
kling bowl. 190 

Then he whose absence we de- 
plore, 

Who breathes the gales of Devon's 
shore, 

The longer missed, bewailed the 
more, 

And thou, and I, and dear-loved 
Rae, 

And one whose name I may not 
say,— 

For not mimosa's tender tree 

Shrinks sooner from the touch 
than he, — 

In merry chorus well combined, 

With laughter drowned the whis- 
tling wind. 

Mirth was within, and Care with- 
out 200 

Might gnaw her nails to hear our 
shout. 

Not but amid the buxom scene 

Some grave discourse might inter- 
vene — 

Of the good horse that bore him 
best, 

His shoulder, hoof, and arching 
crest ; 

For, like mad Tom's, our chiefest 
care 

Was horse to ride and weapon 
wear. 

Such nights we 've had ; and, 
though the game 

Of manhood be more sober tame, 

And though the field-day or the 
drill 210 

Seem less important now, yet 
still 

Such may we hope to share again. 

The sprightly thought inspires my 
strain ! 



CANTO FOURTH 



147 



And mark how, like a horseman 
true, 

Lord Marmion's march I thus re- 
new. 



CANTO FOURTH 

THE CA3IP 



Eustace, I said, did blithely mark 
The first notes of the merry lark. 
The lark sang shrill, the cock he 

crew, 
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew, 
And with their light and lively call 



Of the good steed he loves so 

well ? ' 
Gaping for fear and ruth, they 

saw 
The charger panting on his straw ; 
I Till one, who would seem wisest, 

cried, 
' What else but evil could betide, 
With that cursed Palmer for our 

guide ? 
Better we had through mire and 

bush 3° 

Been lantern-led by Friar Rush. 5 

11 

Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but 
guessed, 



Brought groom and yeoman to the j Xor wholly understood, 



stall- 
Whistling they came and free of 
heart, 



His comrades' clamorous plaints 

suppressed ; 

He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 

But soon their mood was j Him, ere he issued forth, he 

changed ; sought, 

Complaint was heard on every ; And found deep plunged in gloomy 



part 
Of something disarranged. 10 
Some clamored loud for armor 

lost; 
Some brawled and wrangled with 

the host ; 
1 By Becket's bones,' cried one, 'I 

fear 
That some false Scot has stolen 

my spear ! ' 
Young Blount, Lord Marmion's 

second squire, 
Found his steed wet with sweat 

and mire, 
Although the rated horseboy 

sware 
Last night he dressed him sleek 

and fair. 
While chafed the impatient squire 

like thunder, 



thought, 
And did his tale display 
Simply, as if he knew of nought 
' To cause such disarray. 40 

Lord Marmion gave attention cold. 
Nor marvelled at the wonders 

told,— 
Passed them as accidents of 

course, 
And bade his clarions sound to 

horse. 

in 



Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, 

the cost 
Had reckoned with their Scottish 

host; 
And, as the charge he cast and 

paid, 
I ' 111 thou deserv'st thy hire,' he 



Old Hubert shouts in fear and ; said; 

wonder, 20 \ ' Dost see, thou knave, my horse's 

'Help, gentle Blount! help, com- | plight? 

rades all ! ! Fairies have ridden him all the 

Bevis lies dying in his stall ; night, 50 

To Marmion who the plight dare j And left him in a foam ! 

tell i I trust that soon a conjuring band, 



148 



MARMION 



With English cross and blazing 

brand, 
Shall drive the devils from this 

land 
To their infernal home ; 
For in this haunted den, I trow, 
All night they trampled to and fro.' 
The laughing host looked on the 

hire : 
1 Gramercy, gentle southern squire, 
And if thou com'st among the 

rest, 60 

With Scottish broadsword to be 

blest, 
Sharp be the brand, and sure the 

blow, 
And short the pang to undergo.' 
Here stayed their talk, for Mar- 

mion 
Gave now the signal to set on. 
The Palmer showing forth the 

way, 
They journeyed all the morning- 
day. 

rv 
The greensward way was smooth 

and good, 
Through Humbie's and through 

Saltoun's wood ; 
A forest glade, which, varying 

still, 7° 

Here gave a view of dale and hill, 
There narrower closed till over- 
head 
A vaulted screen the branches 

made. 
'A pleasant path,' Fitz-Eustace 

said; 
• Such as where errant knights 

might see 
Adventures of high chivalry. 
Might meet some damsel flying 

fast, 
With hair unbound and looks 

aghast ; 
And smooth and level course were 

here, 79 

In her defence to break a spear. 
Here, too, are twilight nooks and 

dells ; 



And oft in such, the story tells, 

The damsel kind, from danger 
freed, 

Did grateful pay her champion's 
meed.' 

He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's 
mind, 

Perchance to show his lore de- 
signed ; 
For Eustace much had pored 

Upon a huge romantic tome, 

In the hall-window of his home, 

Imprinted at the antique dome 90 
Of Caxton or de Worde. 

Therefore he spoke, — but spoke 
in vain, 

For Marmion answered nought 
again. 



Now sudden, distant trumpets 

shrill, 
In notes prolonged by wood and 
hill, 
Were heard to echo far ; 
Each ready archer grasped his 

bow, 
But by the flourish soon they 
know 
They breathed no point of war. 
Yet cautious, as in foeman's 
land, 100 

Lord Marmion's order speeds the 
band 
Some opener ground to gain ; 
And scarce a furlong had they 

rode, 
When thinner trees receding 
showed 
A little woodland plain. 
Just in that advantageous glade 
The halting troop a line had made, 
As forth from the opposing shade 
Issued a gallant train. 

VI 

First came the trumpets, at whose 
clang no 

So late the forest echoes rang; 

On prancing steeds they forward 
pressed, 



CANTO FOURTH 



149 



With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 

Each at his trump a banner wore, 

Which Scotland's royal scutcheon 
bore : 

Heralds and pursuivants, by name 

Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, 
came, 

In painted tabards, proudly show- 
ing 

Gules, argent, or, and azure glow- 
ing, 
Attendant on a king-at-arms, 120 

Whose hand the armorial trun- 
cheon held 

That feudal strife had often 
quelled 
When wildest its alarms. 

VII 

He was a man of middle age, 

In aspect manly, grave, and sage, 

As on king's errand come ; 
But in the glances of his eye 
A penetrating, keen, and sly 

Expression found its home ; 
The flash of that satiric rage 130 
Which, bursting on the early 

stage, 
Branded the vices of the age, 

And broke the keys of Rome. 
On milk-white palfrey forth he 

paced; 
His cap of maintenance was graced 

With the proud heron-plume. 
From his steed's shoulder, loin, 
and breast, 

Silk housings swept the ground, 

With Scotland's arms, device, and 

crest, 139 

Embroidered round and round. 
The double tressure might you see, 

First by Achaius borne, 
The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, 

And gallant unicorn. 
So bright the king's armorial coat 
That scarce the dazzled eye could 

note t 
Id living colors blazoned brave, 
The Lion, which his title gave ; 
A train, which well beseemed his | 
state, 



But all unarmed, around him 

wait. 150 

Still is thy name in high account, 

And still thy verse has charms, 

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 

Lord Lion King-at-arms ! 

VIII 

Down from his horse did Marmion 

spring 
Soon as he saw the Lion- King ; 
For well the stately baron knew 
To him such courtesy was due 
Whom royal James himself had 

crowned, 
And on his temples placed the 

round 160 

Of Scotland's ancient diadem, 
And wet his brow with hallowed 

wine, 
And on his finger given to shine 

The emblematic gem. 
Their mutual greetings duly made, 
The Lion thus his message said : — 
' Though Scotland's King hath 

deeply swore 
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry 

more, 
And strictly hath forbid resort 
From England to his royal 

court, 170 

Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's 

name 
And honors much his warlike 

fame, 
My liege hath deemed it shame 

and lack 
Of courtesy to turn him back ; 
And by his order I, your guide, 
Must lodging fit and fair provide 
Till finds King James meet time 

to see 
The flower of English chivalry.' 

IX 

Though inly chafed at this delay, 
Lord Marmion bears it as he 
may. 180 

The Palmer, his mysterious guide, 
Beholding thus his place supplied, 
Sought to take leave in vain ; 



150 



MARMION 



Strict was the Lion-King's com- 
mand 

That none who rode in Marmion's 
band 
Should sever from the train. 

4 England has here enow of spies 

In Lady Heron's witching eyes : ' 

To Marchmount thus apart he 
said, 

But fair pretext to Marmion 
made. 190 

The right-hand path they now de- 
cline, 

And trace against the stream the 
Tyne. 



At length up that wild dale they 
wind, 
Where Crichtoun Castle crowns 
the bank ; 
For there the Lion's care assigned 
A lodgiug meet for Marmion's 
rank. 
That castle rises on the steep 
Of the green vale of Tyne ; 
And far beneath, where slow they 

creep 
From pool to eddy, dark and 
deep, 200 

Where alders moist and willows 
weep, 
You hear her streams repine. 
The towers in different ages rose, 
Their various architecture shows 

The builders' various hands ; 
A mighty mass, that could oppose, 
When deadliest hatred fired its 
foes, 
The vengeful Douglas bands. 

XI 

Crichtoun ! though now thy miry 

court 

But pens the lazy steer and 

sheep, 210 

Thy turrets rude and tottered 

keep 

Have been the minstrel's loved 

resort 
Oft have I traced, within thy fort, 



Of mouldering shields the mys- 
tic sense, 
Scutcheons of honor or pretence, 
Quartered in old armorial sort, 

Remains of rude magnificence. 
Nor wholly yet lu th time defaced 
Thy lordly gallery fair, 219 

Nor yet the stony cord unbraced 
Whose twisted knots, with roses 
laced, 
Adorn thy ruined stair. 
Still rises unimpaired below 
The courtyard's graceful portico ; 
Above its cornice, row and row 
Of fair hewn facets richly show 
Their pointed diamond form, 
Though there but houseless cattle 
go, 
To shield them from the storm. 
And, shuddering, still may we ex- 
plore, 230 
Where oft whilom were captives 
pent, 
The darkness of thy Massy More, 
Or, from thy grass-grown battle- 
ment, 
May trace in undulating line 
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 

XII 

Another aspect Crichtoun showed 
As through its portal Marmion 

rode ; 
But yet 't was melancholy state 
Received him at the outer gate, 
For none were in the castle then 
But women, boys, or aged men. 24 1 
With eyes scarce dried, the sor- 
rowing dame 
To welcome noble Marmion came • 
Her son, a stripling twelve years 

old, 
Proffered the baron's rein to hold ; 
For each man that could draw a 

sword 
Had marched that morning with 

their lord, 
Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who 

died 
On Flodden by his sovereign's 

side. 



CANTO FOURTH 



W 



Long may his lady look in vain ! 250 
She ne'er shall see his gallant 

train 
Come sweeping back through 

Crichtoun-Dean. 
'T was a brave race before the 

name 
Of hated Bothwell stained their 

fame. 

XIII 

And here two days did Marmion 

rest, 
"With every right that honor 

claims, 
Attended as the king's own 

guest ; — 
Such the command of Royal 

James, 
Who marshalled then his land's 

array, 259 

Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 
Perchance he would not foeman's 

eye 
Upon his gathering host should pry, 
Till full prepared was every band 
To march against the English 

land. 
Here while they dwelt, did Linde- 

say's wit 
Oft cheer the baron's moodier fit; 
And, in his turn, he knew to prize 
Lord Marmion' s powerful mind 

and wise, — 
Trained in the lore of Rome and 

Greece, 
And policies of war and peace. 270 

xrv 

It chanced, as fell the second night, 
That on the battlements they 
walked, 
And by the slowly fading light 

Of varying topics talked ; 
And, unaware, the herald-bard 
Said Marmion might his toil have 
spared 
In travelling so far, 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to James had counsel 
given 



Against the English war ; 280 
And, closer questioned, thus he 

told 
A tale which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have enrolled ; — 

xv 

SIR DAVID LINDESAVS TALE 

' Of all the palaces so fair, 

Built for the royal dwelling 
In Scotland, far beyond compare 

Linlithgow is excelling ; 
And in its park, in jovial June, 
How sweet the merry linnet's tune. 
How blithe the blackbird's 

lay ! 290 

The wild buck bells from ferny 

brake, 
The coot dives merry on the lake, 
The saddest heart might pleasure 

take 
To see all nature gay. 
But June is to our sovereign dear 
The heaviest month in all the 

year? 
Too well his cause of grief you 

know, 
June saw his father's overthrow. 
Woe to the traitors who could 

bring 299 

The princely boy against his king ! 
Still in his conscience burns the 

sting. 
In offices as strict as Lent 
King James's June is ever spent. 

XVI 

' W T hen last this ruthful month was 
come. 

And in Linlithgow's holy dome 
The king, as wont, was pray- 
ing; 

While for his royal father's soul 

The chanters sung, the bells did 
toll, 
The bishop mass was saying — 

For now the year brought round 
again 310 

The day the luckless king was 
slain — 



152 



MARMION 



In Catherine's aisle the monarch 
knelt, 

With sackcloth shirt and iron belt, 
And eyes with sorrow stream- 
ing; 

Around him in their stalls of state 

The Thistle's Knight-Companions 
sate, 
Their banners o'er them beam- 
ing. 

I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 

Bedeafened with the jangling 
knell, 

Was watching where the sun- 
beams fell, 320 
Through the stained casement 
gleaming; 

But while I marked what next be- 
fell 
It seemed as I were dreaming. 

Stepped from the crowd a ghostly 
wight, 

In azure gown, with cincture 
white ; 

His forehead bald, his head was 
bare, 

Down hung at length his yellow 
hair. — 

Now, mock me not when, good my 
lord, 

I pledge to you my knightly word 

That when I saw his placid 
grace, 330 

His simple majesty of face, 

His solemn bearing, and his pace 
So stately gliding on, — 

Seemed to me ne'er did limner 
paint 

So just an image of the saint 

Who propped the Virgin in her 
faint, 
The loved Apostle John ! 

XVII 

'He stepped before the monarch's 

chair, 
And stood with rustic plainness 

there, 
And little reverence made ; 340 
Nor head, nor body, bowed, nor 

bent, 



But on the desk his arm he leant, 

And words like these he said, 
In a low voice, — but never tone 
So thrilled through vein, and nerve, 

and bone : — 
"My mother sen 4- me from afar, 
Sir King, to warn thee not to 
war,— 
Woe waits on thine array ; 
If war thou wilt, of woman fair, 
Her witching wiles and wanton 
snare, 350 

James Stuart, doubly warned, be- 
ware : 
God keep thee as he may ! " 
The wondering monarch seemed 
to seek 
For answer, and found none ; 
And when he raised his head to 
speak, 
The monitor was gone. 
The marshal and myself had 

cast 
To stop him as he outward passed ; 
But, lighter than the whirlwind's 
blast, 
He vanished from our eyes, 360 
Like sunbeam on the billow cast, 
That glances but, and dies.' 

XVIII 

While Lindesay told his marvel 

strange 
The twilight was so pale, 
He marked not Marmion's color 

change 
While listening to the tale ; 
But, after a suspended pause, 
The baron spoke : ' Of Nature's 

laws 
So strong I held the force, 
That never superhuman cause 370 

Could e'er control their course, 
And, three days since, had judged 

your aim 
Was but to make your guest your 

game; 
But I have seen, since past the 

Tweed, 
What much has changed my scep- 
tic creed, 



CANTO FOURTH 



153 



And made me credit aught.' — He 

stayed, 
And seemed to wish his words un- 
said, 
But, by that strong emotion 

pressed 
Which prompts us to unload our 

breast 
Even when discovery 's pain, 380 
To Lindesay did at length unfold 
The tale his village host had told, 

At Gifford, to his train. 
Nought of the Palmer says he 

there, 
And nought of Constance or of 

Clare ; 
The thoughts which broke his sleep 

he seems 
To mention but as feverish 

dreams. 

XIX 

4 In vain,' said he, ' to rest I spread 
My burning limbs, and couched 

my head ; 
Fantastic thoughts returned, 390 
And, by their wild dominion led, 

My heart within me burned. 
So sore was the delirious goad, 
I took my steed and forth I rode, 
And, as the moon shone bright and 

cold, 
Soon reached the camp upon the 

wold. 
The southern entrance I passed 

through, 
And halted, and my bugle blew. 
Methought an answer met my 

ear,— 
Yet was the blast so low and 

drear, 400 

So hollow, and so faintly blown, 
It might be echo of my own. 

xx 

' Thus judging, for a little space 
I listened ere I left the place, 

But scarce could trust my eyes, 
Nor yet can think they serve me 

true, 
When sudden in the ring I view, 



In form distinct of shape and 
hue, 
A mounted champion rise. — 
I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a 
day, 410 

In single fight and mixed affray, 
j And ever, I myself may say, 
Have borne me as a knight ; 
But when this unexpected foe 
Seemed starting from the gulf be- 

low,— 
I care not though the truth I 
show, — 
I trembled with affright ; 
And as I placed in rest my spear, 
My hand so shook for very fear, 
I scarce could couch it right. 420 

XXI 

' Why need my tongue the issue 

tell? 
We ran our course, — my charger 

fell; — 
What could he 'gainst the shock 
of hell ? 
I rolled upon the plain. 
High o'er my head with threaten- 
ing hand 
The spectre shook his naked 
brand, — 
Yet did the worst remain : 
My dazzled eyes I upward cast,— 
Not opening hell itself could blast 
Their sight like what I saw ! 430 
Full on his face the moonbeam 

strook ! — 
A face could never be mistook ! 
I knew the stern vindictive look, 

And held my breath for awe. 
I saw the face of one who, fled 
j To foreign climes, has long been 
dead, — 
I well believe the last ; 
For ne'er from visor raised did 

stare 
A human warrior with a glare 

So grimly and so ghast. 440 

Thrice o'er my head he shook the 

blade ; 
But when to good Saint George I 
prayed, — 



*54 



MARMION 



The first time e'er I asked his 
aid,— 
He plunged it in the sheath, 
And, on his courser mountain light, 
He seemed to vanish from my 

sight : 
The moonbeam drooped, and deep- 
est night 
Sunk down upon the heath. — 
'T were long to tell what cause I 
have 
To know his face that met me 
there, 450 

Called by his hatred from the 
grave 
To cumber upper air ; 
Dead or alive, good cause had he 
To be my mortal enemy.' 

XXII 

Marvelled Sir David of the Mount ; 
Then, learned in story, gan re- 

count 
Such chance had happed of old, 
When once, near Norham, there 

did fight 
A spectre fell of fiendish might, 
In likeness of a Scottish knight, 460 

With Brian Bulmer bold, 
And trained him nigh to disallow 
The aid of his baptismal vow. 
1 And such a phantom, too, 't is 

said, 
With Highland broadsword, targe, 

and plaid, 
And fingers red with gore, 
Is seen in Rothiemureus glade, 
Or where the sable pine-trees 

shade 
Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnas- 

laid, 
Dromouchty, or Glenmore. 470 
And yet, whate'er such legends 

say 
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay, 

On mountain, moor, or plain, 
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold, 
True son of chivalry should hold 

These midnight terrors vain ; 
For seldom have such spirits 

power 



To harm, save in the evil hour 

When guilt we meditate within 

Or harbor unrepented sin.' — 480 

Lord Marmion turned him half 
aside, 

And twice to clear his voice he 
tried, 
Then pressed Sir David's hand, — 

But nought, at length, in answer 
said; 

And here their further converse 
stayed, 
Each ordering that his band 

Should bowne them with the ris- 
ing day, 

To Scotland's camp to take their 
way,— 

Such was the king's command. 

XXIII 

Early they took Dun-Edin's road, 
And I could trace each step they 

trode ; 491 

Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor 

stone, 
Lies on the path to me unknown. 
Much might it boast of storied 

lore; 
But, passing such digression o'er, 
Suffice it that their route was 

laid 
Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
They passed the glen and scanty 

rill, 
And climbed the opposing hank, 

until 
They gained the top of Blackford 

Hill. 500 

XXIV 

Blackford ! on whose uncultured 
breast, 

Among the broom and thorn and 
whin, 
A truant-boy, I sought the nest, 
Or listed, as I lay at rest, 

While rose on breezes thin 
The murmur of the city crowd, 
And, from his steeple jangling loud. 

Saint Giles's mingling din. 
Now, from the summit to the plain, 



CANTO FOURTH 



iS5 



Waves all the kill with yellow 
grain; 510 

And o'er the landscape as I 
look, 

Nought do I see unchanged re- 
main, 
Save the rude cliffs and chiming 
brook. 

To me they make a heavy moan 

Of early friendships past and gone. 

XXV 

But different far the change has 
been, 
Since Marmion from the crown 

Of Blackford saw that martial 
scene 
Upon the bent so brown : 

Thousand pavilions, white as 
snow, 520 

Spread all the Borough-moor be- 
low, 
Upland, and dale, and down. 

A thousand did I say ? I ween, 

Thousands on thousands there 
were seen, 

That checkered all the heath be- 
tween 
The streamlet and the town, 

In crossing ranks extending far, 

Forming a camp irregular ; 

Oft giving way where still there 
stood 

Some relics of the old oak 
wood, 530 

That darkly huge did intervene 

And tamed the glaring white with 
green : 

In these extended lines there lay 

A martial kingdom's vast array. 

XXTI 

For from Hebudes, dark with rain, 
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, 
And from the southern Redswire 

edge 
To furthest Rosse's rocky ledge, 
From west to east, from south to 

north, 
Scotland sent all her warriors 

forth. 540 



Marmion might hear the mingled 

hum 
Of myriads up the mountain 

come, — 
The horses' tramp and tinkling 

clank, 
Where chiefs reviewed their vassal 

rank, 
And charger's shrilling neigh, — 
And see the shifting lines advance, 
While frequent flashed from shield 

and lance 
The sun's reflected ray. 

XXVII 

Thin curling in the morning air, 
The w r reaths of failing smoke de- 
clare 550 
To embers now the brands decayed, 
Where the night-watch their fires 

had made. 
They saw, slow rolling on the 

plain, 
Full many a baggage-cart and wain, 
And dire artillery's clumsy car, 
By sluggish oxen tugged to war; 
And there w T ere Borthwick's Sis- 
ters Seven, 
And culverins which France had 

given. 
Ill-omened gift ! the guns remain 
The conqueror's spoil on Flodden 
plain. 560 

XXVIII 

Nor marked they less where in the 

air 
A thousand streamers flaunted 

fair ; 
Various in shape, device, and 

hue, 
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and 

blue, 
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and 

square, 
Scroll, pennon, pencil, bandrol, 

there 
O'er the pavilions flew. 
Highest and midmost, was de- 

scried 
The royal banner floating wide ; 



IS6 



MARMION 



The staff, a pine-tree, strong and 

straight, 570 

Pitched deeply in a massive 

stone, 
Which still in memory is 
shown, 
Yet bent beneath the standard's 
weight, 
Whene'er the western wind 

unrolled 
With toil the huge and cum- 
brous fold, 
And gave to view the dazzling 

field, 
Where in proud Scotland's royal 

shield 
The ruddy lion ramped in gold. 

XXIX 

Lord Marmion viewed the land- 
scape bright, 579 
He viewed it with a chief's delight, 
Until within him burned his 

heart, 
And lightning from his eye did 
part, 
As on the battle-day ; 
Such glance did falcon never 
dart 
When stooping on his prey. 
'Oh! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou 

said, 
Thy king from warfare to dissuade 

Were but a vain essay ; 
For, by Saint George, were that 

host mine, 
Not power infernal nor divine 590 
Should once to peace my soul in- 
cline, 
Till I had dimmed their armor's 
shine 
In glorious battle-fray ! ' 
Answered the bard, of milder 

mood: 
4 Fair is the sight, — and yet 't were 
good 
That kings would think withal, 
When peace and wealth their land 

has blessed, 
'T is better to sit still at rest 
Than rise, perchance to fall.' 



XXX 

Still on the spot Lord Marmion 
stayed, 600 

For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. 

When sated with the martial show 

That peopled all the plain below, 

The wandering eye could o'er it go, 

And mark the distant city glow 
With gloomy splendor red ; 

For on the smoke-wreaths, huge 
and slow, 

That round her sable turrets flow, 
The morning beams were shed, 

And tinged them with a lustre 
proud, 610 

Like that which streaks a thunder- 
cloud. 

Such dusky grandeur clothed the 
height 

Wliere the huge castle holds its 
state, 
And all the steep slope down, 

Whose ridgy back heaves to the 
sky, 

Piled deep and massy, close and 
high, 
Mine own romantic town ! 

But northward far, with purer 
blaze, 

On Ochil mountains fell the rays, 

And as each heathy top they 
kissed, 620 

It gleamed a purple amethyst. 

Yonder the shores of Fife you 
saw, 

Here Preston-Bay and Berwick- 
Law; 
And, broad between them rolled, 

The gallant Firth the eye might 
note, 
j Whose islands on its bosom float, 
Like emeralds chased in gold. 

Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely 
pent ; 

As if to give his rapture vent, 629 

The spur he to his charger lent, 
And raised his bridle hand, 

And making demi-volt in air, 

Cried, ' Where 's the coward that 
would not dare 
To fight for such a land t 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH 



157 



The Lindesay smiled his joy to 

see, 
Nor Marmion's frown repressed 

his glee. 

XXXI 

Thus while they looked, a flourish 

proud, 
Where mingled trump, and clarion 
loud, 
And fife, and kettle-drum, 639 
And sackbut deep, and psaltery, 
And war-pipe with discordant cry, 
And cymbal clattering to the sky, 
Making wild music bold and high, 

Did up the mountain come ; 
The whilst the bells with distant 

chime 
Merrily tolled the hour of prime, 
And thus the Lindesay spoke : 
' Thus clamor still the war-notes 

when 
The king to mass his way has 
ta'en, 649 

Or to Saint Catherine's of Sienne, 

Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame, 
But me remind of peaceful game, 

When blither was their cheer, 
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the 

air, 
In signal none his steed should 

spare, 
But strive which foremost might 
repair 
To the downfall of the deer. 

XXXII 

' Nor less,' he said, ' when looking 
forth 659 

I view yon Empress of the North 
Sit on her hilly throne, 

Her palace's imperial bowers, 

Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 

Her stately halls and holy tow- 
ers— 
Nor less,' he said, ' I moan 

To think what woe mischance may 
bring, 

And how these merry bells may 
ring 



The death-dirge of our gallant 
king, 
Or with their larum call 
The burghers forth to watch and 
ward, 670 

'Gainst Southern sack and fires to 
guard 
Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. — 
But not for my presaging thought, 
Dream conquest sure or cheaply 
bought ! 
Lord Marmion, I say nay : 
God is the guider of the field, 
He breaks the champion's spear 
and shield ; 
But thou thyself shalt say, 
When joins yon host in deadly 

stowre, 

That England's dames must weep 

in bower, 680 

Her monks the death-mass sing ; 

For never saw'st thou such a power 

Led on by such a king.' 
And now, down winding to the 

plain, 
The barriers of the camp they 
gain, 
And there they made a stay. — 
There stays the Minstrel, till he 

fling 
His band o'er every Border string, 
And fit his harp the pomp to sing 
Of Scotland's ancient court and 
king, 69c 

In the succeeding lay. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
FIFTH 

TO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ. 

Edinburgh 
When dark December glooms the 

day, 
And takes our autumn joys away , 
When short and scant the sun- 
beam throws 
Upon the weary waste of snows 
A cold and profitless regard, 
Like patron on a needy bard ; 



i S 8 



MARMION 



When sylvan occupation 's done. 
And o'er the chimney rests the 

gun, 
And hang in idle trophy near, 
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and 

spear; 10 

When wiry terrier, rough and 

grim 
And greyhound, with his length 

of limb, 
And pointer, now employed no 

more, 
Cumber our parlor's narrow floor ; 
When in his stall the impatient 

steed 
Is long condemned to rest and 

feed; 
When from our snow - encircled 

home 
Scarce cares the hardiest step to 

roam, 
Since path is none, save that to 

bring 
The needful water from the spring ; 
When wrinkled news-page, thrice 

conned o'er, 21 

Beguiles the dreary hour no more, 
And darkling politician, crossed, 
Inveighs against the lingering 

post, 
And answering housewife sore 

complains 
Of carriers' snow - impeded 

wains; — 
When such the country-cheer, I 

come 
Well pleased to seek our city 

home; 
For converse and for books to 

change 
The Forest's melancholy range, 30 
And welcome with renewed de- 
light 
The busy day and social night. 

Not here need my desponding 

rhyme 
Lament the ravages of time, 
As erst by Newark's riven towers, 
And Ettrick stripped of forest 

bowers. 



True, Caledonia's Queen is 

changed 
Since on her dusky summit ranged, 
Within its steepy limits pent 
By bulwark, line, and battlement, 
And flanking towers, and laky 

flood, 41 

Guarded and garrisoned she 

stood, 
Denying entrance or resort 
Save at each tall embattled port, 
Above whose arch, suspended, 

hung 
Portcullis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone,— but not so 

long 
Since, early closed and opening 

late, 
Jealous revolved the studded gate, 
Whose task, from eve to morning 

tide, 50 

A wicket churlishly supplied. 
Stern then and steel-girt was thy 

brow, 
Dun-Edin ! Oh, how altered now, 
When safe amid thy mountain 

court 
Thou sitt'st, like empress at her 

sport, 
And liberal, unconfined, and free, 
Flinging thy white arms to the 

sea, 
For thy dark cloud, with umbered 

lower, 
That hung o'er cliff and lake and 

tower, 
Thou gleam'st against the western 

ray 60 

Ten thousand lines of brighter 

day! 

Not she, the championess of old, 
In Spenser's magic tale enrolled, 
She for the charmed spear re- 
nowned, 
Which forced each knight to kiss 

the ground, — 
Not she more changed, when, 

placed at rest, 
What time she was Malbecco's 
guest, 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH 



159 



She gave to flow her maiden vest ; 

When, from the corselet's grasp 
relieved, 

Free to the sight her bosom 
heaved : 7° 

Sweet was her blue eye's modest 
smile, 

Erst hidden by the aventayle, 

And down her shoulders graceful 
rolled 

Her locks profuse of paly gold. 

They who whilom in midnight 
fight 

Had marvelled at her matchless 
might, 

No less her maiden charms ap- 
proved, 

But looking liked, and liking loved. 

The sight could jealous pangs be- 
guile, 

And charm Malbecco's cares 
awhile ; 80 

And he, the wandering Squire of 
Dames 

Forgot his Columbella's claims, 

And passion, erst unknown, could 
gain 

The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; 

Nor durst light Paridell advance, 

Bold as he was, a looser glance. 

She charmed, at once, and tamed 
the heart, 

Incomparable Britomart ! 

So thou, fair City ! disarrayed 
Of battled wall and rampart's aid, 
As stately seem'st, but lovelier 

far 91 

Than in that panoply of war. 
Nor deem that from thy fenceless 

throne 
Strength and security are flown ; 
Still as of yore, Queen of the 

North ! 
Still canst thou send thy children 

forth. 
Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call 
Thy burghers rose to man thy 

wall 
Than now, in danger, shall be 

thine, 



Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 100 
For fosse and turret proud to 

stand, 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the 

land. 
Thy thousands, trained to martial 

toil, 
Full red would stain their native 

soil, 
Ere from thy mural crown there 

fell 
The slightest knosp fcpinnacle. 
And if it come, as coBe it may, 
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, 
Renowned for hospitable deed, 
That virtue much with Heaven 

may plead, no 

In patriarchal times whose care 
Descending angels deigned to 

share ; 
That claim may wrestle blessings 

down 
On those who fight for the Good 

Town, 
Destined in every age to be 
Refuge of injured royalty ; 
Since first, when conquering York 

arose, 
To Henry meek she gave repose, 
Till late, with wonder, grief, and 

awe, 
Great Bourbon's relics sad she 

saw. 120 

Truce to these thoughts ! — for, 

as they rise, 
How gladly I avert mine eyes, 
Bodings, or true or false, to change 
For Fiction's fair romantic range, 
Or for tradition's dubious light, 
That hovers -'twixt the day and 

night : 
Dazzling alternately and dim, 
Her wavering lamp I 'd rather 

trim, 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames 

to see, 
Creation of my fantasy, 130 

Than gaze abroad on reeky fen, 
And make of mists invading 

men.— 



t6o 



MARMION 



Who loves not more the night of 

June 
Than dull December's gloomy 

noon? 
The moonlight than the fog of 

frost? 
And can we say which cheats the 

most ? 

But who shall teach my harp to 

gain 
A sound of the romantic strain 
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whil- 

ere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear, 
Famed Beauclerk called, for that 

he loved 141 

The minstrel and his lay approved ? 
Who shall these lingering notes re- 
deem, 
Decaying on Oblivion's stream ; 
Such notes as from the Breton 

tongue 
Marie translated, Blondel sung? — 
Oh ! born Time's ravage to repair, 
And make the dying Muse thy 

care; 
Who, when his scythe her hoary 

foe 
Was poising for the final blow, 150 
The weapon from his hand could 

wring, 
And break his glass and shear his 

wing, 
And bid, reviving in his strain, 
The gentle poet live again ; 
Thou, who canst give to lightest 

lay 
An unpedantic moral gay, 
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
On wings of unexpected wit ; 
In letters as in life approved, 159 
Example honored and beloved, — 
Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
A lesson of thy magic art, 
To win at once the head and 

heart, — 
At once to charm, instruct, and 

mend, 
My guide, my pattern, and my 

friend ! 



Such minstrel lesson to bestow 
Be long thy pleasing task, — but 

oh! 
No more by thy example teach 
What few can practise, all can 

preach, — 
With even patience to endure 170 
Lingering disease and painful cure, 
And boast affliction's pangs sub- 
dued 
By mild and manly fortitude. 
Enough, the lesson has been given ; 
Forbid the repetition, Heaven ! 

Come listen, then ! for thou hast 

known 
And loved the Minstrel's varying 

tone, 
Who, like his Border sires of old, 
Waked a wild measure rude and 

bold, 
Till Windsor's oaks and Ascot 

plain 180 

With wonder heard the Northern 

strain. 
Come listen ! bold in thy applause, 
The bard shall scorn pedantic 

laws; 
And, as the ancient art could stain 
Achievements on the storied pane, 
Irregularly traced and planned, 
But yet so glowing and so grand, 
So shall he strive, in changeful 

hue, 
Field, feast, and combat to renew, 
And loves, and arms, and harpers' 

glee, 190 

And all the pomp of chivalry. 



CANTO FIFTH 

THE COURT 

I 

The train has left the hills of 

Braid ; 
The barrier guard have open 

made — 
So Lindesay bade — the palisade 
That closed the tented ground ; 



CANTO FIFTH 



161 



Their men the warders backward 

drew, . 
And carried pikes as they rode 

through 
Into its ample bound. 
Fast ran the Scottish warriors 

there, 
Upon the Southern band to stare, 
And envy with their wonder rose, 
To see such well-appointed foes ; 
Such length of shafts, such mighty 

bows, 
So huge that many simply thought 
But for a vaunt such weapons 

wrought, 
And little deemed their force to 

feel 
Through links of mail and plates 

of steel 
When, rattling uponFlodden vale, 
The cloth-yard arrows flew like 

hail. 

n 

Nor less did Marmion's skilful 

view 
Glance every line and squadron 

through, 20 

And much he marvelled one small 

land 
Could marshal forth such various 

band; 
For men-at-arms were here, 
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate. 
Like iron towers for strength and 

weight, 
On Flemish steeds of bone and 

height, 
With battle-axe and spear. 
Young knights and squires, a 

lighter train, 
Practised their chargers on the 

plain, 
By'aid of leg, of hand, and rein, 30 

Each warlike feat to show, 
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to 

gain, 
And high curvet, that not in vain 
The sword-sway might descend 

amain 
On foeman's casque below. 



He saw the hardy burghers there 
March armed on foot with faces 
bare, 
For visor they wore none. 
Nor waving plume, nor crest of 

knight ; 
But burnished were their corse- 
lets bright, 40 
Their brigantines and gorgets 
light 
Like very silver shone. 
; Long pikes they had for standing 
fight, 
Two-handed swords they wore, 
And many wielded mace of weight, 
And bucklers bright they bore. 

in 

On foot the yeoman too, but 

dressed 
In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest, 

With iron quilted w T ell ; 
Each at his back — a slender 
store — 50 

His forty days' provision bore, 

As feudal statutes tell. 
His arms were halbert, axe, or 

spear, 
A crossbow there, a hagbut here, 

A dagger-knife, and brand, 
Sober he seemed and sad of cheer, 
As loath to leave his cottage dear 

And march to foreign strand, 
Or musing who would guide his 

steer 
. To till the fallow land. 60 

Yet deem not in his thoughtful 

eye 
Did aught of dastard terror lie ; 

More dreadful far his ire 
Than theirs who, scorning dan- 
ger's name, 
In eager mood to battle came, 
Their valor like light straw on 
flame, 
A fierce but fading fire. 



IV 

Borderer 



Not so the 

war, 
He knew the battle's din afar, 



bred to 



1 62 



MARMION 



And joyed to hear it swell. 70 
His peaceful day was slothful 

ease; 
Nor harp nor pipe his ear could 
please 
Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and 

blade, 
The light-armed pricker plied his 
trade, — 
Let nobles fight for fame ; 
Let vassals follow where they 

lead, 
Burghers, to guard their townships, 
bleed, 
But war 's the Borderers' game. 
Their gain, their glory, their de- 
light, 80 
To sleep the day, maraud the 
night, 
O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 
Joyful to fight they took their 

way, 
Scarce caring who might win the 
day, 
Their booty was secure. 
These, as Lord Marmion's train 

passed by, 
Looked on at first with careless 

eye, 
Nor marvelled aught, well taught 

to know 
The form and force of English 

bow, 
But when they saw the lord ar- 
rayed 90 
In splendid arms and rich bro- 
cade, 
Each Borderer to his kinsman 
said, — 
4 Hist, Eingan ! seest thou there? 
Canst guess which road they '11 

homeward ride ? 
Oh! could we but on Border 

side, 
By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide, 

Beset a prize so fair ! 
That fangless Lion, too, their 

guide, 
Might chance to lose his glistering 
hide : 



Brown Maudlin of that doublet 
pied 100 

Could make a kirtle rare.' 



Next, Marmion marked the Celtic 

race, 
Of different language, form, and 
face, 
A various race of man ; 
Just then the chiefs their tribes 

arrayed, 
And wild and garish semblance 

made 
The checkered trews and belted 

plaid, 
And varying notes the war-pipes 
brayed 
To every varying clan. 
Wild through their red or sable 
hair no 

Looked out their eyes with savage 
stare 
On Marmion as he passed ; 
Their legs above the knee were 

bare ; 
Their frame was sinewy, short, 
and spare, 
And hardened to the blast ; 
Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage 

known. 
The hunted red-deer's undressed 

hide 

Their hairy buskins well supplied ; 

The graceful bonnet decked their 

head; 120 

Back from their shoulders hung 

the plaid ; 
A broadsword of unwieldy length, 
A dagger proved for edge and 
strength, 
A studded targe they wore, 
And quivers, bows, and shafts,— 

but, oh ! 
Short was the shaft and weak the 
bow 
To that which England bore. 
The Isles -men carried at their 

backs 
The ancient Danish battle-axe. 



CANTO FIFTH 



163 



They raised a wild and wondering 
cry, 130 

As with his guide rode Marmion by. 

Loud were their clamoring tongues, 
as when 

The clanging sea-fowl leave the 
fen, 

And, with their cries discordant 
mixed, 

Grumbled and yelled the pipes be- 
twixt. 

VI 

Thus through the Scottish camp 
they passed, 

And reached the city gate at last, 

Where all around, a wakeful 
guard, 

Armed burghers kept their w r atch 
and ward. 

Well had they cause of jealous 
fear, 140 

When lay encamped In field so 
near 

The Borderer and the Mountain- 
eer. 

As through the bustling streets 
they go, 

All was alive with martial show ; 

At every turn with dinning clang 

The armorer's anvil clashed and 
rang, 

Or toiled the swarthy smith to 
wheel 

The bar that arms the charger's 
heel, 

Or axe or falchion to the side 

Of jarring grindstone was ap- 
plied. 150 

Page, groom, and squire, with 
hurrying pace, 

Through street and lane and mar- 
ket-place, 
Bore lance or casque or sword ; 

While burghers, with important 
face, 
Described each new-come lord, 

Discussed his lineage, told his 
name, 

His following, and his warlike 
fame. 



The Lion led to lodging meet, 
Which high o'erlooked the crowd- 
ed street ; 
There must the baron rest 160 
Till past the hour of vesper tide, 
And then to Holy-Rood must 
ride,— 
Such was the king's behest. 
Meanwhile the Lion's care as- 
signs 
A banquet rich and costly wines 

To Marmion and his train ; 
And when the appointed hour 

succeeds, 
The baron dons his peaceful 

weeds, 
And following Lindesay as he 
leads, 
The palace halls they gain. 170 

VII 

Old Holy-Rood rung merrily 
That night with wassail, mirth, and 

glee: 
King James within her princely 

bower 
Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's 

power, 
Summoned to spend the parting 

hour ; 
For he had charged that his array 
Should southward march by break 

of day. 
Well loved that splendid monarch 

aye 
The banquet and the song, 
By day the tourney, and by 

night 180 

The merry dance, traced fast and 

light, 
The maskers quaint, the pageant 

bright, 
The revel loud and long. 
This feast outshone his banquets 

past; 
It was his blithest — and his last. 
The dazzling lamps from gallery 

gay 
Cast on the court a dancing ray ; 
Here to the harp did minstrels 

sing, 



1 64 



MARMION 



There ladies touched a softer 

string ; 
With long-eared cap and motley 

vest, 190 

The licensed fool retailed his jest ; 
His magic tricks the juggler plied; 
At dice and draughts the gallants 

vied ; 
While some, in close recess apart, 
Courted the ladies of their heart, 

Nor courted them in vain ; 
For often in the parting hour 
Victorious Love asserts his power 

O'er coldness and disdain ; 
And flinty is her heart can view 200 
To battle march a lover true — 
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 
Nor own her share of pain. 

VIII 

Through this mixed crowd of glee 

and game 
The king to greet Lord Marmion 
came, 
While, reverent, all made room. 
An easy task it was, I trow, 
King James's manly form to know, 
Although, his courtesy to show, 
He doffed to Marmion bending 
low 210 

His broidered cap and plume. 
For royal were his garb and mien : 
His cloak of crimson velvet 

piled, 
Trimmed with the fur of marten 
wild, 
His vest of changeful satin sheen, 

The dazzled eye beguiled ; 
His gorgeous collar hung adown, 
Wrought with the badge of Scot- 
land's crown, 
The thistle brave of old renown ; 
His trusty blade, Toledo right, 220 
Descended from a baldric bright ; 
White were his buskins, on the heel 
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 
His bonnet, all of crimson fair, 
Was buttoned with a ruby rare : 
And Marmion deemed he ne'er 

had seen 
A prince of such a noble mien. 



IX 

The monarch's form was middle 
size, 

For feat of strength or exercise 
Shaped in proportion fair ; 230 

And hazel was his eagle eye, 

And auburn of the darkest dye 
His short curled beard and hair. 

Light was his footstep in the 
dance, 
And Arm his stirrup in the lists ; 

And, oh! he had that merry 
glance 
That seldom lady's heart re- 
sists. 

Lightly from fair to fair he flew, 

And loved to plead, lament, and 
sue, — 

Suit lightly won and short-lived 
pain, 240 

For monarchs seldom sigh in 
vain. 
I said he joyed in banquet 
bower; 

But, mid his mirth, 't was often 
strange 

How suddenly his cheer would 
change, 
His look o'ercast and lower, 

If in a sudden turn he felt 

The pressure of his iron belt, 

That bound his breast in penance 
pain, 

In memory of his father slain. 

Even so 't was strange how ever- 
more, 250 

Soon as the passing pang was 
o'er, 

Forward he rushed with double 
glee 

Into the stream of revelry. 

Thus dim-seen object of affright 

Startles the courser in his flight, 

And half he halts, half springs 
aside, 

But feels the quickening spur ap- 
plied, 

And, straining on the tightened 
rein, 

Scours doubly swift o'er hill and 
plain. 



CANTO FIFTH 



165 



X 

O'er James's heart, the courtiers 

say, 260 

Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held 

sway ; 
To Scotland's court she came 
To be a hostage for her lord, 
Who Cessford's gallant heart had 

gored, 
And with the king to make accord 

Had sent his lovely dame. 
Nor to that lady free alone 
Did the gay king allegiance own ; 

For the fair Queen of France 
Sent him a turquoise ring and 

glove, 270 

And charged him, as her knight 

and love, 
For her to break a lance, 
And strike three strokes with 

Scottish brand, 
And march three miles on South- 
ron land, 
And bid the banners of his band 

In English breezes dance. 
And thus for France's queen he 

drest 
His manly limbs in mailed vest, 
And thus admitted English fair 
His inmost councils still to 

share, 280 

And thus for both he madly 

planned 
The ruin of himself and land ! 

And yet, the sooth to tell, 
Xor England's fair nor France's 

queen 
Were worth one pearl-drop, bright 

and sheen, 
From Margaret's eyes that fell, — 
His own Queen Margaret, who in 

Lithgow's bower 
All lonely sat and wept the weary 

hour. 

XI 

The queen sits lone in Lithgow 

pile, 
And weeps the weary day 290 
The war against her native soil, 
Her monarch's risk in battle 

broil, — 



And in gay Holy-Rood the while 
Dame Heron rises with a smile 

Upon the harp to play. 
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 

The strings her fingers flew ; 
And as she touched and tuned 

them all, 
Ever her bosom's rise and fall 

Was plainer given to view ; 300 
For, all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wimple, and her hood untied. 
And first she pitched her voice to 

sing, 
Then glanced her dark eye on the 

king, 
And then around the silent ring, 
And laughed, and blushed, and oft 

did say 
Her pretty oath, by yea and nay, 
She could not, would not, durst 

not play ! 
At length, upon the harp, with 

glee, 
Mingled with arch simplicity, 3 10 
A soft yet lively air she rung, 
While thus the wily lady sung : — 

XII 

LOCHINVAR 

LADY HEEOX'S SOXG 

Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out 
of the west, 

Through all the wide Border his 
steed was the best ; 

And save his good broadsword he 
weapons had none, 

He rode all unarmed and he rode 
all alone. 

So faithful in love and so daunt- 
less in war, 

There never was knight like the 
young Lochinvar. 

He stayed not for brake and lie 
stopped not for stone, 

He swam the Eske river where 
ford there was none ; 320 

But ere he alighted at Netherby 
gate 



1 66 



MARMION 



The bride had consented, the gal- 
lant came late : 

For a laggard in love and a das- 
tard in war 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave 
Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby 

Hall, 
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, 

and brothers, and all : 
Then spoke the bride's father, his 

hand on his sword,— 
For the poor craven bridegroom 

said never a word, — 

I Oh ! come ye in peace here, or 

come ye in war, 
Or to dance at our bridal, young 
Lord Lochinvar ? ' — 330 

I I long wooed your daughter, my 

suit you denied ; 
Love swells like the Solway, but 

ebbs like its title — 
And now am I come, with this lost 

love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink 

one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland 

more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the 

young Lochinvar.' 

The bride kissed the goblet; the 

knight took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine, and he 

threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she 

looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips and a tear 

in her eye. 340 

He took her soft hand ere her 

mother could bar,— 
* Now tread we a measure ! ' said 

young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely 

her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard 

did grace ; 



While her mother did fret, and her 
father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dan- 
gling his bonnet and plume ; 

And the bride-maidens whispered, 
' 'T were better by far 

To have matched our fair cousin 
with young Lochinvar.' 

One touch to her hand and one 
word in her ear, 349 

When they reached the hall-door, 
and the charger stood near; 

So light to the croupe the fair lady 
he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her 
he sprung! 

1 She is won ! we are gone, over 
bank, bush, and scaur; 

They '11 have fleet steeds that fol- 
low,' quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Grae- 
mes of the Netherby clan ; 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Mus- 
graves, they rode and they 
ran: 

There was racing and chasing on 
Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby 
ne'er did they see. 

So daring in love and so dauntless 
in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like 
young Lochinvar ? 360 

XIII 

The monarch o'er the siren hung, 
And beat the measure as she 

sung ; 
And, pressing closer and more 

near, 
He whispered praises in her ear. 
In loud applause the courtiers 

vied, 
And ladies winked and spoke 

aside. 
The witching dame to Marrnion 

threw 
A glance, where seemed to 

reign 



CANTO FIFTH 



167 



The pride that claims applauses 
due, 369 

And of her royal conquest too 
A real or feigned disdain : 

Familiar was the look, and told 

Marmion and she were friends of 
old. 

The king observed their meeting 
eyes 

With something like displeased 
surprise : 

For monarchs ill can rivals brook, 

Even in a word, or smile, or look. 

Straight took he forth the parch- 
ment broad 

Which Marmion's high commis- 
sion showed : 

'Our Borders sacked by many a 
raid, 380 

Our peaceful liege-men robbed,' he 
said, 

' On day of truce our warden slain, 

Stout Barton killed, his vessels 
ta'en — 

Unworthy were we here to reign, 

Should these for vengeance cry in 
vain; 

Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, 

Our herald has to Henry borne.' 

XIV 

He paused, and led where Douglas 

stood 
And with stern eye the pageant 

viewed ; 389 

I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 
Who coronet of Angus bore, 
And, when his blood and heart 

were high, 
Did the third James in camp defy, 
And all his minions led to die 
On Lauder's dreary flat. . 
Princes and favorites long grew 

tame, 
And trembled at the homely name 

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat ; 
The same who left the dusky vale 
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 400 

Its dungeons and its towers, 
Where Bothwell's turrets brave 

the air, 



And Bothwell bank is blooming 
fair, 
To fix his princely bowers. 
Though now in age he had laid 

down 
His armor for the peaceful gown, 

And for a staff his brand, 
Yet often would flash forth the fire 
That could in youth a monarch's 
ire 409 

And minion's pride withstand; 
And even that day at council 
board, 
Unapt to soothe his sovereign's 

mood, 
Against the war had Angus 
stood, 
And chafed his royal lord. 

xv 

His giant-form, like ruined tower, 
Though fallen its muscles' brawny 

vaunt, 
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim. 

and gaunt, 
Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to 

lower; 
His locks and beard in silver grew. 
His eyebrows kept their sable 

hue. 
Near Douglas when the monarch 

stood, 421 

His bitter speech he thus pursued : 
4 Lord Marmion, since these letters 

say 
That in the North you needs must 

stay 
While slightest hopes of peace 

remain, 
Uncourteous speech it were and 

stern 
To say — Return to Lindisfarne, 

Until my herald come again. 
Then rest you in Tantallon hold ; 
Your host shall be the Douglas 

bold,— 430 

A chief unlike his sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade, 
Their blazon o'er his towers dis- 
played, 
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose 



1 68 



MARMION 



More than to face his country's 

foes. 
And, I bethink me, by Saint 

Stephen, 
But e'en this morn to me was 

given 
A prize, the first fruits of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 

A bevy of the maids of heaven. 
Under your guard these holy 

maids 441 

Shall safe return to cloister shades, 
And, while they at Tantallon stay, 
Requiem for Cochran's soul may 

say.' 
And with the slaughtered favorite's 

name 
Across the monarch's brow there 

came 
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. 

XVI 

In answer nought could Angus 

speak, 
His proud heart swelled well-nigh 

to break ; 
He turned aside, and down his 

cheek 450 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the monarch sudden took, 
That sight his kind heart could 

not brook : 
* Now, by the Bruce's soul, 
Angus, my hasty speech forgive ! 
For sure as doth his spirit live, 
As he said of the Douglas old, 
. I well may say of you, — 
That never king did subject hold, 
In speech more free, in war more 

bold, 460 

More tender and more true ; 
Forgive me, Douglas, once 

again.' — 
And, while the king his hand did 

strain, 
The old man's tears fell down like 

rain. 
To seize the moment Marmion 

tried, 
And whispered to the king aside : 
• Oh ! let such tears unwonted plead 



For respite short from dubious 

deed! 
A child will weep a bramble's 

smart, 469 

A maid to see her sparrow part, 
A stripling for a woman's heart ; 
But woe awaits a country when 
She sees the tears of bearded men. 
Then, oh ! what omen, dark and 

high, 
When Douglas wets his manly 

eye!' 

XVII 

Displeased was James that stran 

ger viewed 
And tampered with his changing 

mood. 
1 Laugh those that can, weep those 

that may,' 
Thus did the fiery monarch say, 
' Southward I march by break of 

day ; 480 

And if within Tantallon strong 
The good Lord Marmion tarries 

long, 
Perchance our meeting next may 

fall 
At Tamworth in his castle-hall.' — 
The haughty Marmion felt the 

taunt, 
And answered grave the royal 

vaunt : 
'Much honored were my humble 

home, 
If in its halls King James should 

come; 
But Nottingham has archers good. 
And Yorkshire men are stern of 

mood, 490 

Northumbrian prickers wild and 

rude. 
On Derby Hills the paths are steep, 
In Ouse and Tyne the fords are 

deep; 
And many a banner will be torn. 
And many a knight to earth be 

borne, 
And many a sheaf of arrows spent, 
Ere Scotland's king shall cross the 

Trent: 



CANTO FIFTH 



i6g 



Yet pause, brave prince, while yet 

you may ! ' — 
The monarch lightly turned away, 
And to his nobles loud did call, 
1 Lords, to the dance, — a hall ! a 

hall!' 501 

Himself his cloak and sword flung 

by, 
And led Dame Heron gallantly ; 
And minstrels, at the royal order, 
Rung out ' Blue Bonnets o'er the 

Border.' 

XVIII 

Leave we these revels now to tell 
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell, 
Whose galley, as they sailed again 
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide 
Till James should of their fate de- 
cide, 511 
And soon by his command 
Were gently summoned to prepare 
To journey under Marmion's care, 
As escort honored, safe, and fair, 

Again to English land. 
The abbess told her chaplet o'er. 
Nor knew which Saint she should 

implore ; 
For, when she thought of Con- 
stance, sore 
She feared Lord Marmion's 
mood. 520 

And judge what Clara must have 

felt! 
The sword that hung in Marmion's 
belt 
Had drunk De Wilton's blood. 
Unwittingly King James had 
given, 
As guard to Whitby's shades, 
The man most dreaded under 
heaven 
By these defenceless maids ; 
Yet what petition could avail, 
Or who would listen to the tale 
Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 530 
Mid bustle of a war begun? 
They deemed it hopeless to avoid 
The convoy of their dangerous 
guide. 



XIX 

Their lodging, so the king assigned, 
To Marmion's, as their guardian, 

joined ; 
And thus it fell that, passing nigh, 
The Palmer caught the abbess' 

eye, 
Who warned him by a scroll 
She had a secret to reveal 
That much concerned the Church's 

weal 540 

And health of sinner's soul; 
And, with deep charge of secrecy, 

She named a place to meet 
Within an open balcony, 
That hung from dizzy pitch and 

high 
Above the stately street, 
To which, as common to each 

home, 
At night they might in secret come. 

xx 

At night in secret there they came, 
The Palmer and the holy dame. 
The moon among the clouds rode 
high, 551 

And all the city hum was by. 
Upon the street, where late be- 
fore 
Did din of war and warriors roar, 
You might have heard a pebble 
fall, 
A beetle hum, a cricket sing, 
An owlet flap his boding wing 

On Giles's steeple tall. 
The antique buildings, climbing 

high, 
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the 
sky, 560 

Were here wrapt deep in shade ; 
There on their brows the moon- 
beam broke, 
Through the faint w r reaths of sil- 
very smoke, 
And on the casements played. 
And other light was none to see, 

Save torches gliding far, 
Before some chieftain of degree 
Who left the royal revelry 
To bowne him for the war. — 



170 



MARMION 



A solemn scene the abbess chose, 
A solemn hour, her secret to dis- 
close. 571 

XXI 

1 holy Palmer ! ' she began, — 
* For sure he must be sainted man, 
Whose blessed feet have trod the 

ground 
Where the Redeemer's tomb is 

found, — 
For his dear Church's sake, my 

tale 
Attend, nor deem of light avail, 
Though I must speak of worldly 

love, — 
How vain to those who wed 

above ! — 
De Wilton and Lord Marmion 

wooed 580 

Clara de Clare, of Gloster's 

blood ; — 
Idle it were of Whitby's dame 
To say of that same blood I 

came ; — 
And once, when jealous rage was 

high, 
Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
Wilton was traitor in his heart, 
And had made league with Martin 

Swart 
When he came here on Simnel's 

part, 
And only cowardice did restrain 
His rebel aid on Stokefield's 

plain,— 590 

And down he threw his glove. 

The thing 
Was tried, as wont, before the 

king; 
Where frankly did De Wilton own 
That Swart in Guelders he had 

known, 
And that between them then there 

went 
Some scroll of courteous compli- 
ment. 
For this he to his castle sent ; 
But when his messenger returned, 
Judge how De Wilton's fury 

burned ! 



For in his packet there were laid 

Letters that claimed disloyal aid 

And proved King Henry's cause 
betrayed. 602 

His fame, thus blighted, in the 
field 

He strove to clear by spear and 
shield ; — 

To clear his fame in vain he strove, 

For wondrous are His ways above ! 

Perchance some form was unob- 
served, 

Perchance in prayer or faith he 
swerved, 

Else how could guiltless champion 
quail, 

Or how the blessed ordeal fail ? 

XXII 

' His squire, who now De Wilton 

saw 6n 

As recreant doomed to suffer law, 

Repentant, owned in vain 
That while he had the scrolls in 

care 
A stranger maiden, passing fair, 
Had drenched him with a bever- 
age rare ; 
His words no faith could gain. 
With Clare alone he credence won. 
Who, rather than wed Marmion, 
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine re- 
pair, 620 
To give our house her livings fair . 
And die a vestal votaress there. 
The impulse from the earth was 

given, 
But bent her to the paths of hea- 
ven. 
A purer heart, a lovelier maid, 
Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's 

shade, 
No, not since Saxon Edelfled ; 
Only one trace of earthly stain, 

That for her lover's loss 
She cherishes a sorrow vain, 630 

And murmurs at the cross. — 
And then her heritage : — it goes 

Along the banks of Tame ; 
Deep fields of grain the reaper 
mows, 



CANTO FIFTH 



171 



In meadows rich the heifer lows, 
The falconer and huntsman knows 

Its woodlands for the game. 
Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear, 
And I, her humble votaress here, 
Should do a deadly sin, 640 

Her temple spoiled before mine 

eyes, 
If this false Marmion such a prize 

By my consent should win; 
Yet hath our boisterous monarch 

sworn 
That Clare shall from our house 

be torn, 
And grievous cause have I to 

fear 
Such mandate doth Lord Marmion 

bear. 

XXIII 

' Now, prisoner, helpless, and be- 
trayed 
To evil power, I claim thine aid, 
By every step that thou hast 
trod 650 

To holy shrine and grotto dim, 
By every martyr's tortured limb, 
By angel, saint, and seraphim, 
And by the Church of God ! 
For mark : when Wilton was be- 
trayed, 
And with his squire forged letters 

laid, 
She was, alas ! that sinful maid 

By whom the deed was done, — 
Oh ! shame and horror to be said ! 
She was — a perjured nun ! 660 
No clerk in all the land like her 
Traced quaint and varying char- 
acter. 
Perchance you may a marvel 
deem, 
That Marmion's paramour — 
For such vile thing she was — 
should scheme 
Her lover's nuptial hour; 
But o'er him thus she hoped to ! 

gain, 
As privy to his honor's stain, 

Illimitable power. 
For this she secretly retained 670 



Each proof that might the plot 
reveal, 

Instructions with his hand and 
seal; 
And thus Saint Hilda deigned, 

Through sinners' perfidy im- 
pure, 

Her house's glory to secure 

And Clare's immortal weal. 

XXIV 

"T were long and needless here 

to tell 
How to my hand these papers fell ; 

With me they must not stay. 
Saint Hilda keep her abbess true ! 
Who knows what outrage he might 

do 68 £ 

While journeying by the way ? — 

blessed Saint, if e'er again 

1 venturous leave thy calm do- 

main, 
To travel or by land or main, 

Deep penance may I pay ! — 
Now, saintly Palmer, mark my 

prayer : 
I give this packet to thy care, 
For thee to stop they will not 

dare ; 
And oh ! with cautious speed 
To Wolsey's hand the papers 

bring, 691 

That he may show them to the 

king: 
And for thy well-earned meed, 
Thou holy man, at Whitby's 

shrine 
A weekly mass shall still be thine 
While priests can sing and 

read.— 
What ail'st thou ?— Speak ! ' — For 

as he took 
The charge a strong emotion 

shook 
His frame, and ere reply 
They heard a faint yet shrilly 

tone, 70° 

Like distant clarion feebly blown, 

That on the breeze did die ; 
And loud the abbess shrieked in 

fear, 



172 



MARMION 



'Saint Withold, save us ! — What 
is here ! 
Look at yon City Cross ! 
See on its battled tower appear 
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem 
to rear 
And blazoned banners toss ! ' — 

XXV 

Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillared stone, 
Rose on a turret octagon ; — 710 
But now is razed that monument, 

Whence royal edict rang, 
And voice of Scotland's law was 
sent 
In glorious trumpet-clang. 
Oh ! be his tomb as lead to lead 
Upon its dull destroyer's head ! — 
A minstrel's malison is said. — 
Then on its battlements they saw 
A vision, passing Nature's law, 

Strange, wild, and dimly seen ; 
Figures that seemed to rise and 
die, 721 

Gibber and sign, advance and fly, 
While nought confirmed could ear 
or eye 
Discern of sound or mien. 
Yet darkly did it seem as there 
Heralds and pursuivants prepare, 
With trumpet sound and blazon 
fair, 
A summons to proclaim ; 
But indistinct the pageant proud, 
As fancy forms of midnight cloud 
When flings the moon upon her 
shroud 73 1 

A wavering tinge of flame ; 
It flits, expands, and shifts, till 

loud, 
From midmost of the spectre 
crowd, 
This awful summons came : — 

xxvi 
4 Prince, prelate, potentate, and 
peer, 
Whose names I now shall call, 
Scottish or foreigner, give ear ! 
Subjects of him who sent me 
here, 



At his tribunal to appear 740 

I summon one and all : 
I cite you by each deadly sin 
That e'er hath soiled your hearts 

within ; 
I cite you by each brutal lust 
That e'er defiled your earthly 

dust, — 
By wrath, by pride, by fear, 
By each o'ermastering passion's 

tone, 
By the dark grave and dying 

groan ! 
When forty days are passed and 

gone, 
I cite you, at your monarch's 

throne 7 50 

To answer and appear.' — 
Then thundered forth a roll of 

names ; — 
The first was thine, unhappy 

James ! 
Then all thy nobles came ; 
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, 

Argyle, 
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, 

Lyle, — 
Why should I tell their separate 

style ? 
Each chief of birth and fame, 
Of Lowland, Highland, Border, 

Isle, 
Foredoomed to Flodden's carnage 

pile, 760 

Was cited there by name ; 
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye ; 
De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 
The self-same thundering voice 

did say. — 
But then another spoke : 
' Thy fatal summons I deny 
And thine infernal lord defy, 
Appealing me to Him on high 

Who burst the sinner's yoke.' 770 
At that dread accent, with a 

scream, 
Parted the pageant like a dream, 

The summoner was gone. 
Prone on her face the abbess 

fell, 



CANTO FIFTH 



173 



And fast, and fast, her beads did 

tell; 
Her nuns came, startled by the 

yell, 
And found her there alone. 
She marked not, at the scene 

aghast, 
What time or how the Palmer 

passed. 

XXVII 

Shift we the scene. — The camp 
doth move ; 780 

Dun-Edin's streets are empty 
now, 

Save when, for weal of those they 
love 
To pray the prayer and vow the 
vow, 

The tottering child, the anxious 
fair, 

The gray-haired sire, with pious 
care, 

To chapels and to shrines repair. — 

Where is the Palmer now? and 
where 

The abbess, Marmion, and 
Clare? — 

Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair 
They journey in thy charge : 790 

Lord Marmion rode on his right 
hand, 

The Palmer still was with the 
band; 

Angus, like Lindesay, did com- 
mand 
That none should roam at large. 

But in that Palmer's altered mien 

A wondrous change might now be 
seen; 
Freely he spoke of war, 

Of marvels wrought by single hand 

When lifted for a native land, 

And still looked high, as if he 
planned 800 

Some desperate deed afar. 

His courser would he feed and 
stroke, 

And, tucking up his sable frock, 

Would first his mettle bold pro- 
voke, 



Then soothe or quell his pride. 
Old Hubert said that never one 
He saw, except Lord Marmion, 

A steed so fairly ride. 

XXVIII 

Some half-hour's march behind 

there came, 
By Eustace governed fair, 810 
A troop escorting Hilda's dame, 

With all her nuns and Clare. 
No audience had Lord Marmion 

sought ; 
Ever he feared to aggravate 
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ; 
And safer 't was, he thought, 
To wait till, from the nuns re- 
moved, 
The influence of kinsmen loved, 
And suit by Henry's self ap- 
proved, 
Her slow consent had wrought. 820 
His was no flickering flame, that 

dies, 
Unless when fanned by looks 

and sighs 
And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 
He longed to stretch his wide 

command 
O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 
Besides, when Wilton with him 

vied, 
Although the pang of humbled 

pride 
The place of jealousy supplied, 
Yet conquest, by that meanness 

won 
He almost loathed to think upon, 
Led him, at times, to hate the 

cause 83 r 

Which made him burst through 

honor's laws. 
If e'er he loved, 't was her alone 
Who died within that vault of 

stone. 

XXIX 

And now, when close at hand they 

saw 
Xorth Berwick's town and lofty 

Law, 



174 



MARMION 



Fitz- Eustace bade them pause 

awhile 
Before a venerable pile 

Whose turrets viewed afar 839 
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 

The ocean's peace or war. 
At tolling of a bell, forth came 
The convent's venerable dame, 
And prayed Saint Hilda's abbess 

rest 
With her, a loved and honored 

guest, 
Till Douglas should a bark pre- 
pare 
To waft her back to Whitby fair. 
Glad was the abbess, you may 

guess, 
And thanked the Scottish prioress ; 
And tedious were to tell, I ween, 
The courteous speech that passed 

between. 851 

O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys 

leave ; 
But when fair Clara did intend, 
Like tb A m, from horseback to de- 
scend, 
Fitz-Eustace said : * I grieve, 
Fair lady, grieve e'en from my 

heart, 
Such gentle company to part ; — 

Think not discourtesy, 
But lords' commands must be 

obeyed, 
And Marmion and the Douglas 

said 860 

That you must wend with me. 
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad, 
Which to the Scottish earl he 

showed, 
Commanding that beneath his care 
Without delay you shall repair 
To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz- 

Clare.' 

XXX 

The startled abbess loud ex- 
claimed ; 

But she at whom the blow was 
aimed 

Grew pale as death and cold as 
lead,— 



She deemed she heard her death- 
doom read. 870 
1 Cheer thee, my child ! ' the abbess 

said, 
1 They dare not tear thee from my 

hand, 
To ride alone with armed band.' — 

4 Nay, holy mother, nay,' 
Fitz - Eustace said, ' the lovely 

Clare 
Will be in Lady Angus' care, 
In Scotland while we stay; 
And when we move an easy ride 
Will bring us to the English 

side, 
Female attendance to provide 880 

Befitting Gloster's heir; 
Nor thinks nor dreams my noble 

lord, 
By slightest look, or act, or word, 

To harass Lady Clare. 
Her faithful guardian he will be, 
Nor sue for slightest courtesy 
That e'en to stranger falls, 
Till he shall place her safe and 

free 
Within her kinsman's halls.' 
He spoke, and blushed with ear- 
nest grace; 890 
His faith was painted on his 

face, 
And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed 
On Henry, and the Douglas 

blamed, 
Entreated, threatened, grieved, 
To martyr, saint, and prophet 

prayed, 
Against Lord Marmion inveighed, 
And called the prioress to aid, 
To curse with candle, bell, and 

book. 
Her head the grave Cistertian 

shook : 900 

' The Douglas and the king,' she 

said, 
1 In their commands will be 

obeyed ; 
Grieve not, nor dream that harm 

can fall 
The maiden in Tantallon Hall.' 



CANTO FIFTH 



*75 



XXXI 

The abbess, seeing strife was 

vain, 
Assumed her wonted state 
again, — 
For much of state she had,— 
Composed her veil, and raised her 

head, 
And 'Bid,' in solemn voice she 
said, 
1 Thy master, bold and bad, 91c 
The records of his house turn 
o'er, 
And, when he shall there written 

see 
That one of his own ancestry 
Drove the monks forth of Coven- 
try, 
Bid him his fate explore ! 
Prancing in pride of earthly 

trust, 
His charger hurled him to the 

dust, 
And, by a base plebeian thrust, 
He died his band before. 
God judge 'twixt Marmion and 
me ; 920 

He is a chief of high degree, 
And I a poor recluse. 
Yet oft in holy writ we see 
Even such weak minister as me 
May the oppressor bruise ; 
For thus, inspired, did Judith 
slay 
The mighty in his sin, 
And Jael thus, and Deborah ' — 
Here hasty Blount broke in : 
'' Fitz-Eustace, we must march our 
band; 930 

Saint Anton' fire thee ! wilt thou 

stand 
All day, with bonnet in thy hand, 

To hear the lady preach? 
By this good light ! if thus we 

stay, 
Lord Marmion for our fond delay 

Will sharper sermon teach. 
Come, don thy cap and mount thy 

horse ; 
The dame must patience take per- 
force.' 



XXXII 

' Submit we then to force,' said 

Clare, 
1 But let this barbarous lord de- 
spair 940 

His purposed aim to win ; 
Let him take living, land, and 

life, 
But to be Marmion's wedded wife 

In me were deadly sin : 
And if it be the king's decree 
That I must find no sanctuary 
In that inviolable dome 
Where even a homicide might 
come 
And safely rest his head, 
Though at its open portals stood 
Thirsting to pour forth blood for 
blood, 951 

The kinsmen of the dead, 
Yet one asylum is my own 

Against the dreaded hour,— 
A low, a silent, and a lone, 

W r here kings have little power, 
One victim is before me there.— 
Mother, your blessing, and in 

prayer 
Remember your unhappy Clare ! ' 
Loud weeps the abbess, and be. 

StOWS 960 

Kind blessings many a one ; 
Weeping and wailing loud arose, 
Round patient Clare, the clamor- 
ous woes 
Of every simple nun. 
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried, 
And scarce rude Blount the sight 
could bide. 
Then took the squire her rein, 
And gently led away her steed, 
And by each courteous word and 
deed 
To cheer her strove in vain. 970 

XXXIII 

But scant three miles the band 
had rode, 
When o'er a height they passed, 
And, sudden, close before them 
showed 
His towers Tantallon vast, 



176 



MARMION 



Broad, massive, high, and stretch- 
ing far, 

And held impregnable in war. 

On a projecting rock they rose, 

And round three sides the ocean 
flows, 

The fourth did battled walls en- 
close 979 
And double mound and fosse. 

By narrow drawbridge, outworks 
strong, 

Through studded gates, an en- 
trance long, 
To the main court they cross. 

It was a wide and stately square ; 

Around were lodgings fit and fair, 
And towers of various form, 

Which on the court projected far 

And broke its lines quadrangular. 

Here was square keep, there tur- 
ret high, - 989 

Or pinnacle that sought the sky, 

Whence oft the warder could de- 
scry 
The gathering ocean-storm. 

xxxiv 

Here did they rest. — The princely 

care 
Of Douglas why should I declare, 
Or say they met reception fair ? 

Or why the tidings say, 
Which varying to Tantallon came, 
By hurrying posts or fleeter fame, 

With every varying day ? 
And, first, they heard King James 
had won 1000 

Etall, and Wark, and Ford ; and 

then, 
That Norham Castle strong was 
ta'en. 
At that sore marvelled Marmion, 
And Douglas hoped his monarch's 

hand 
Would soon subdue Northumber- 
land ; 
But whispered news there came, 
That while his host inactive lay, 
And melted by degrees away, 
King James was dallying off the 
day 



With Heron's wily dame. ioro 
Such acts to chronicles I yield ; 
Go seek them there and see : 
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 

And not a history. — 
At length they heard the Scottish 

host 
On that high ridge had made their 
post 
Which frowns o'er Millfield 
Plain ; 
And that brave Surrey many a 

band 
Had gathered in the Southern 

land, 
And marched into Northumber- 
land, 1020 

And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
Marmion, like charger in the stall, 
That hears, without, the trumpet- 
call, 
Began to chafe and swear : — 
4 A sorry thing to hide my head 
In castle, like a fearful maid, 
When such a field is near. 
Needs must I see this battle-day ; 
Death to my fame if such a fray 
Were fought, and Marmion away ! 
The Douglas, too, I w 7 ot not 
why, 103 1 

Hath bated of his courtesy ; 
No longer in his halls I '11 stay : ' 
Then bade his band they should 

array 
For march against the dawning 
day. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
SIXTH 

TO RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. 

Mertoim House, Christrtms 
Heap on more wood ! — the wind 

is chill ; 
But let it whistle as it will, 
We '11 keep our Christmas merry 

still. 
Each age has deemed the new- 
born year 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH 



177 



The fittest time for festal cheer : 
Even, heathen yet, the savage 

Dane 
At Iol more deep the mead did 

drain, 
High on the beach his galleys 

drew, 
And feasted all his pirate crew ; 
Then in his low and pine-built 

hall, 10 

Where shields and axes decked 

the wall, 
They gorged upon the half-dressed 

steer, 
Caroused in seas of sable beer, 
While round in brutal jest were 

thrown 
The half-gnawed rib and marrow- 
bone, 
Or listened all in grim delight 
While scalds yelled out the joys of 

fight. 
Then forth in frenzy would they 

hie, 
While wildly loose their red locks 

fly, 
And dancing round the blazing 

pile, 20 

They make such barbarous mirth 

the while 
As best might to the mind recall 
The boisterous joys of Octon's hall. 

And well our Christian sires of 

old 
Loved when the year its course 

had rolled, 
And brought blithe Christmas 

back again 
With all his hospitable train. 
Domestic and religious rite 
Gave honor to the holy night ; 
On Christmas eve the bells were 

rung, 30 

On Christmas eve the mass was 

sung: 
That only night in all the year 
Saw the stoled priest the chalice 

rear. 
The damsel donned her kirtle 

sheen ; 



The hall was dressed with holly 

green ; 
Forth to the wood did merrymen 

go, 
To gather in the mistletoe. 
Then opened wide the baron's 

hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
Power laid his rod of rule aside, 40 
And Ceremony doffed his pride. 
The heir, with roses in his shoes, 
That night might village partner • 

choose ; 
The lord, underogating, share 
The vulgar game of 'post and 

pair.' 
All hailed, with uncontrolled de- 
light 
And general voice, the happy night 
That to the cottage, as the crown, 
Brought tidings of salvation down. 

The fire, with well -dried logs 

supplied, 50 

Went roaring up the chimney 

wide; 
The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to 

grace, 
Bore then upon its massive board 
No mark to part the squire and 

lord. 
Then was brought in the lusty 

brawn 
By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
Then the grim boar 's-head frowned 

on high, 
Crested with bays and rosemary. 
Well can the green-garbed ranger 

tell 60 

How, when, and where, the mon- 
ster fell, 
What dogs before his death he 

tore, 
And all the baiting of the boar. 
The wassail round, in good brown 

bowls 
Garnished with ribbons, blithely 

trowls. 
There the huge sirloin reeked; 

hard by 



178 



MARMION 



Plum-porridge stood and Christ- 

mas pie ; 
Nor failed old Scotland to pro- 
duce 
At such high tide her savory 

goose. 69 

Then came the merry maskers in, 
And carols roared with blithesome 

din; 
If unmelodious was the song, 
It was a hearty note and strong. 
Who lists may in their mumming 

see 
Traces of ancient mystery ; 
White shirts supplied the masquer- 
ade, 
And smutted cheeks the visors 

made; 
But oh! what maskers, richly 

dight, 
Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 
England was merry England when 
Old Christmas brought his sports 

again. 81 

Twas Christmas broached the 

mightiest ale, 
'T was Christmas told the merriest 

tale; 
A Christmas gambol oft could 

cheer 
The poor man's heart through half 

the year. 

Still linger in our northern clime 
Some remnants of the good old 

time, 
And still within our valleys here 
We hold the kindred title dear, 
Even when, perchance, its far- 
fetched claim 90 
To Southron ear sounds empty 

name ; 
For course of blood, our proverbs 

deem, 
Is warmer than the mountain- 
stream. 
And thus my Christmas still I hold 
Where my great-graudsire came 

of old, 
With amber beard and flaxen hair 
And reverend apostolic air. 



The feast and holy-tide to share, 
And mix sobriety with wine, 
And honest mirth with thoughts 
divine : 100 

Small thought was his, in after 

time 
E'er to be hitched into a rhyme. 
The simple sire could only boast 
That he was loyal to his cost, 
The banished race of kings re- 
vered, 
And lost his land, —but kept his 
beard. 

In these dear halls, where wel- 
come kind 

Is with fair liberty combined, 

Where cordial friendship gives the 
hand, 

And flies constraint the magic 
wand no 

Of the fair dame that rules the 
land, 

Little we heed the tempest drear, 

While music, mirth, and social 
cheer 

Speed on their wings the passing 
year. 

And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en 
now, 

When not a leaf is on the bough. 

Tweed loves them well, and turns 
again, 

As loath to leave the sweet do- 
main, 

And holds his mirror to her face, 

And clips her with a close em- 
brace: — 120 

Gladly as he we seek the dome, 

And as reluctant turn us home. 

How just that at this time of 
glee 

My thoughts should, Heber, turn 
to thee ! 

For many a merry hour we 've 
known, 

And heard the chimes of mid- 
night's tone, 

Cease, then, my friend 1 a moment 
cease, 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH 



179 



And leave these classic tomes in 

peace ! 
Of Roman and of Grecian lore 
Sure mortal brain can hold no 

more. 130 

♦These ancients, as Noll Bluff 

might say, 
1 Were pretty fellows in their day,' 
But time and tide o'er all pre- 
vail— 
On Christmas eve a Christmas 

tale — 
Of wonder and of war — 4 Profane ! 
What! leave the lofty Latian 

strain, 
Her stately prose, her verse's 

charms, 
To hear the clash of rusty arms ; 
In Fairy-land or Limbo lost, 
To jostle conjurer and ghost, 140 
Goblin and witch! ' — Nay, Heber 

dear, 
Before you touch my charter, hear ; 
Though Leyden aids, alas! no 

more, 
My cause with many-languaged 

lore, 
This may I say : — in realms of 

death 
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith, 
iEneas upon Thracia's shore 
The ghost of murdered Polydore , 
For omens, we in Livy cross 
At every turn locutus Bos. 150 
As grave and duly speaks that ox 
As if he told the price of stocks, 
Or held in Rome republican 
The place of Common-councilman. 

All nations have their omens 
drear, 
Their legends wild of woe and 

fear. 
To Cambria look— the peasant see 
Bethink him of Glendowerdy 
And shun 'the Spirit's Blasted 

Tree.' — 
The Highlander, whose red clay- 
more 160 
The battle turned on Maida's 
shore, 



Will on a Friday morn look pale, 
If asked to tell a fairy tale : 
He fears the vengeful Elfin King, 
Who leaves that day his grassy 

ring ; 
Invisible to human ken, 
He walks among the sons of men. 

Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass 

along 
Beneath the towers of Franche*- 

mont, 169 

Which, like an eagle's nest in air, 
Hang o'er the stream -and hamlet 

fair? 
Deep in their vaults, the peasants 

say, 
A mighty treasure buried lay, 
Amassed through rapine and 

through wrong 
By the last Lord of FranchSniont. 
The iron chest is bolted hard, 
A huntsman sits its constant 

guard ; 
Around his neck his horn is hung, 
His hanger in his belt is slung ; 
Before his feet his bloodhounds 

lie : 180 

An 't were not for his gloomy eye, 
Whose withering glance no heart 

can brook, 
As true a huntsman doth he look 
As bugle e'er in brake did sound, 
Or ever hallooed to a hound. 
To chase the fiend and win the 

prize 
In that same dungeon ever tries 
An aged necromantic priest ; 
It is an hundred years at least 
Since 'twixt them first the strife 

begun, 190 

And neither yet has lost nor won. 

1 And oft the conjurer's words will 

make 
The stubborn demon groan and 

quake ; 
And oft the bands of iron break, 
Or bursts one lock that still amain 
Fast as 't is opened, shuts again. 
That magic strife within the tomb 
May last until the day of doom. 



i8o 



MARMION 



Unless the adept shall learn to 

tell 
The very word that clenched the 

spell 200 

When Franch'mont locked the 

treasure cell. 
An hundred years are passed and 

gone, 
And scarce three letters has he 

won. 

Such general superstition may 

Excuse for old Pitscottie say, 

Whose gossip history has given 

My song the messenger from 
heaven 

That warned, in Lithgow, Scot- 
land's king, 

Nor less the infernal summoning ; 

May pass the Monk of Durham's 
tale, 210 

Whose demon fought in Gothic 
mail ; 

May pardon plead for Fordun 
grave, 

Who told of Gifford's Goblin-Cave. 

But why such instances to you, 

Who in an instant can renew 

Your treasured hoards of various 
lore, 

And furnish twenty thousand 
more? 

Hoards, not like theirs whose vol- 
umes rest 

Like treasures in the Franch'mont 
chest, 219 

While gripple owners still refuse 

To others what they cannot use ; 

Give them the priest's whole cen- 
tury, 

They shall not spell you letters 
three, — 

Their pleasure in the books the 
same 

The magpie takes in pilfered 
gem. 

Thy volumes, open as thy heart, 

Delight, amusement, science, art, 

To every ear and eye impart ; 

Yet who, of all who thus employ 
them, 



Can like the owner's self enjoy 

them?— 230 

But, hark! I hear the distant 

drum ! 
The day of Flodden Field is 

come,— 
Adieu, dear Heber! life and 

health, 
And store of literary wealth. 



CANTO SIXTH 



THE BATTLE 



While great events were on the 

gale, 
And each hour brought a varying 

tale, 
And the demeanor, changed and 

cold, 
Of Douglas fretted Marmion bold, 
And, like the impatient steed of 

war, 
He snuffed the battle from afar, 
And hopes were none that back 

again 
Herald should come from Terou- 

enne, 
Where England's king in leaguer 

lay, 
Before decisive battle-day, — 10 
While these things were, the 

mournful Clare 
Did in the dame's devotions share : 
For the good countess ceaseless 

prayed 
To Heaven and saints her sons to 

aid, 
And with short interval did pass 
From prayer to book, from book 

to mass, 
And all in high baronial pride, — 
A life both dull and dignified : 
Yet, as Lord Marmion nothing 

pressed 
Upon her intervals of rest, 20 

Dejected Clara well could bear 
The formal state, the lengthened 

prayer, 



CANTO SIXTH 



81 



Though dearest to her wounded 

heart 
The hours that she might spend 

apart. 

ii 
I said Tantallon's dizzy steep 
Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 
Many a rude tower and rampart 

there 
Repelled the insult of the air, 
Which, when the tempest vexed 

the sky, 
Half breeze, half spray, came 
whistling by. 30 

Above the rest a turret square 
Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear, 
Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ; 
The Bloody Heart was in the field, 
And in the chief three mullets 

stood, 
The cognizance of Douglas blood. 
The turret held a narrow stair, 
Which, mounted, gave you access 

where 
A parapet's embattled row 39 
Did seaward round the castle go. 
Sometimes in dizzy steps descend- 
ing, 
Sometimes in narrow circuit bend- 
ing, 
Sometimes in .platform broad ex- 
tending, 
Its varying circle did combine 
Bulwark, and bartizan, and line, 
And bastion, tower, and vantage- 
coign. 
Above the booming ocean leant 
The far-projecting battlement ; 
The billows burst in ceaseless 

flow 
Upon the precipice below. 50 

Where'er Tantallon faced the land, 
Gate-works and walls were strong- 
ly manned ; 
No need upon the sea-girt side : 
The steepy rock and frantic tide 
Approach of human step denied, 
And thus these lines and ramparts 

rude 
Were left in deepest solitude. 



in 

And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
Would to these battlements re- 
pair, 59 
And muse upon her sorrows there, 

And list the sea-bird's cry, 
Or slow, like noontide ghost, would 

glide 
Along the dark -gray bulwarks' 

side, 
And ever on the heaving tide 
Look down with weary eye. 
Oft did the cliff and swelling 

main 
Recall the thoughts of Whitby's 

fane, — 
A home she ne'er might see again : 

For she had laid adown, 
So Douglas bade, the hood and 

veil, 70 

And frontlet of the cloister pale, 

And Benedictine gown : 
It were unseemly sight, he said, 
A novice out of convent shade. — 
Now her bright locks with sunny 

glow 
Again adorned her brow of snow ; 
Her mantle rich, whose borders 

round 
A deep and fretted broidery 

bound, 
In golden foldings sought the 

ground ; 
Of holy ornament, alone 80 

Remained a cross with ruby stone ; 

And often did she look 
On that which in her hand she 

bore, 
With velvet bound and broidered 

o'er, 
Her breviary book. 
In such a place, so lone, so grim, 
At dawning pale or twilight dim, 

It fearful would have been 
To meet a form so richly dressed, 
With book in hand, and cross on 

breast, 90 

And such a woful mien. 
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his 

bow, 
To practise on the gull and crow, 



182 



MARMION 



Saw her at distance gliding slow, 

And did by Mary swear 
Some lovelorn fay she might have 

been, 
Or in romance some spell-bound 

queen, 
For ne'er in work-day world was 
seen 
A form so witching fair. 99 

IV 

Once walking thus at evening tide 
It chanced a gliding sail she spied, 
And sighing thought— ' The abbess 

there 
Perchance does to her home re- 
pair; 
Her peaceful rule, where Duty 

free 
Walks hand in hand with Charity, 
Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 
Can such a glimpse of heaven be- 
stow 
That the enraptured sisters see 
High vision and deep mystery,— 
The very form of Hilda fair, no 
Hovering upon the sunny air 
And smiling on her votaries' 

prayer. 
Oh ! wherefore to my duller eye 
Did still the Saint her form deny ? 
Was it that, seared by sinful scorn, 
My heart could neither melt nor 

burn? 
Or lie my warm affections low 
With him that taught them first to 

glow? 
Yet, gentle abbess, well I knew 
To pay thy kindness grateful due, 
And well could brook the mild 
command 121 

That ruled thy simple maiden 

band. 
How different now, condemned to 

bide 
My doom from this dark tyrant's 

pride ! — 
But Marmion has to learn ere long 
That constant mind and hate of 

wrong 
Descended to a feeble girl 



From Red de Clare, stout Gloster's 

Earl: 
Of such a stem a sapling weak, 
He ne'er shall bend, although he 

break. no 



' But see ! — what makes this armor 

here ? ' — 
For in her path there lay 
Targe, corselet, helm ; she viewed 

them near. — 
1 The breastplate pierced ! — Ay, 

much 1 fear, 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foe- 
man's spear, 
That hath made fatal entrance 

here, 
As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corselet's 

ward, 
Not truth, as diamond pure and 

hard, 139 

Could be thy manly bosom's guard 

On yon disastrous day ! ' — 
She raised her eyes in mournful 

mood,— 
Wilton himself before her stood ! 
It might have seemed his passing 

ghost, 
For every youthful grace was lost, 
And joy unwonted and surprise 
Gave their strange wildness to his 

eyes.— 
Expect not, noble dames and lords, 
That I can tell such scene in 

words : 
What skilful limner e'er would 

choose 150 

To paint the rainbow's varying 

hues, 
Unless to mortal it were given 
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ? 
Far less can my weak line declare 
Each changing passion's shade : 
Brightening to rapture from de- 
spair, 
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there, 
And joy with her angelic air, 
And hope that paints the future 

fan-, 159 



CANTO SIXTH 



'83 



Their varying hues displayed ; 
Each o'er its rival's ground extend- 
ing, 
Alternate conquering, shifting, 

blending, 
Till all fatigued the conflict yield, 
And mighty love retains the field. 
Shortly I tell what then he said, 
By many a tender word delayed, 
And modest blush, and bursting 

sigh, 
And question kind, and fond 
reply : — 



VI 



DE WILTON'S HISTORY 

•Forget we that disastrous day 
When senseless in the lists I lay. 
Thence dragged, —but how I 
cannot know, 171 

For sense and recollection 
fled,— 
I found me on a pallet low 
Within my ancient beadsman's 
shed. 
Austin,— remember'st thou, my 
Clare, 
How thou didst blush when the old 

man, 
When first our infant love began, 
Said we would make a matchless 
pair?— 
Menials and friends and kinsmen 
fled 179 

From the degraded traitor's bed,— 
He only held my burning head, 
And tended me for many a day 
While wounds and fever held their 

sway. 
But far more needful was his care 
When sense returned to wake de- 
spair ; 
For I did tear the closing wound, 
And dash me frantic on the 
ground, 
If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
At length, to calmer reason 

brought, 
Much by his kind attendance 
wrought, 190 



With him I left my native 
strand, 
And, in a palmer's weeds arrayed, 
My hated name and form to shade, 

I journeyed many a land, 

No more a lord of rank and birth, 

But mingled with the dregs of 

earth. 

Oft Austin for my reason feared, 

When I would sit, and deeply 

brood 
On dark revenge and deeds .of 
blood, 
Or wild mad schemes upreared. 
My friend at length fell sick, and 
said 201 

God would remove him soon ; 
And while upon his dying bed 

He begged of me a boon — 
If e'er my deadliest enemy 
Beneath my brand should con- 

quered lie, 
Even then my mercy should awake 
And spare his life for Austin's 
sake. 

VII 

' Still restless as a second Cain, 
To Scotland next my route was 
ta'en, 210 

Full well the paths I knew. 
Fame of my fate made various 

sound, 
That death in pilgrimage I found. 
That I had perished of my 
wound, — 
Xone cared which tale was true ; 
. And living eye could never guess 
: De Wilton in his palmer's dress, 
j For now that sable slough is shed. 
And trimmed my shaggy beard and 
head, 
I I scarcely know me in the glass. 
A chance most wondrous did pro- 
vide 221 
That I should be that baron's 
guide — 
I will not name his name ! — 
Vengeance to God alone belongs : 
But, when I think on all my 
wrongs. 



184 



MARMION 



My blood is liquid flame ! 
And ne'er the time shall I forget 
When, in a Scottish hostel set, 

Dark looks we did exchange : 
What were his thoughts I cannot 
tell, 230 

But in my bosom mustered Hell 

Its plans of dark revenge. 

VIII 

' A word of vulgar augury 

That broke from me, I scarce knew 

why, 
Brought on a village tale, 
Which wrought upon his moody 

sprite, 
And sent him armed forth by 

night. 
I borrowed steed and mail 
And weapons from his sleeping 

band; 
And, passing from a postern 

door, 240 

We met and 'countered, hand to 

hand, — 
He fell on Gifford-moor. 
For the death-stroke my brand I 

drew, — 
Oh ! then my helmed head he 

knew, 
The palmer's cowl was gone, — 
Then had three inches of my blade 
The heavy debt of vengeance 

paid, — 
My hand the thought of Austin 

stayed ; 
I left him there alone. — 
good old man ! even from the 

grave 250 

Thy spirit could thy master save : 
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
Had Whitby's abbess in her fear 
Given to my hand this packet dear, 
Of power to clear my injured fame 
And vindicate De Wilton's 

name. — 
Perchance you heard the abbess 

tell 
Of the strange pageantry of hell 

That broke our secret speech — 
It rose from the infernal shade, 260 



Or featly was some juggle played, 

A tale of peace to teach. 
Appeal to Heaven I judged was 

best 
When my name came among the 

rest. 

IX 

4 Now here within Tantallon hold 
To Douglas late my tale I told, 
To whom my house was known of 

old. 
Won by my proofs, his falchion 

bright 
This eve anew shall dub me knight. 
These were the arms that once did 
turn 270 

The tide of fight on Otterburne, 
And Harry Hotspur forced to yield 
When the Dead Douglas won the 

field. 
These Angus gave —his armorer's 

care 
Ere morn shall every breach re- 
pair ; 
For nought, he said, was in his 

halls 
But ancient armor on the walls, 
And aged chargers in the stalls, 
And women, priests, and gray- 
haired men ; 
The rest were all in Twisel glen. 280 
And now I watch my armor here, 
By law of arms, till midnight's 

near ; 
Then, once again a belted knight, 
Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of 
light. 



* There soon again we meet, my 
Clare ! 

This baron means to guide thee 
there : 

Douglas reveres his king's com- 
mand, 

Else would he take thee from his 
band. 288 

And there thy kinsman Surrey, too, 

Will give De Wilton justice due. 

Now meeter far for martial broil, 



CANTO SIXTH 



*«S 



Firmer my limbs and strung by 

toil, 
Once more ' — ' O Wilton ! must we 

then 
Risk new-found happiness again, 
Trust fate of arms once more ? 
And is there not an humble glen 

Where we, content and poor, 
Might build a cottage in the shade, 
A shepherd thou, and I to aid 

Thy task on dale and moor? — 
That reddening brow ! — too well I 
know 301 

Not even thy Clare can peace be- 
stow 
While falsehood stains thy 
name: 
Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee 

go! 
Clare can a warrior's feelings know 

And weep a warrior's shame, 
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, 
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel 
And belt thee with thy brand of 
sfceel, 
And send thee forth to fame ! ' 3 10 

XI 

That night upon the rocks and bay 

The midnight moonbeam slumber- 
ing lay, 

And poured its silver light and 
pure 

Through loophole and through 
embrasure 
Upon Tantallon tower and hall ; 

But chief where arched windows 
wide 

Illuminate the chapel's pride 
The sober glances fall. 

Much was there need; though 
seamed with scars, 

Two veterans of the Douglas' 
wars, 320 

Though two gray priests were 
there, 

And each a blazing torch held 
high, 

You could not by their blaze de- 
scry 
The chapel's carving fair. 



Amid that dim and smoky light, 
Checkering the silvery moonshine 

bright, 
A bishop by the altar stood, 
A noble lord of Douglas blood, 
With mitre sheen and rochet 

white. 
Yet showed his meek and thought- 
ful eye 330 
But little pride of prelacy ; 
More pleased that in a barbarous 

age 
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's 

page 
Than that beneath his rule he 

held 
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 
Beside him ancient Angus stood, 
Doffed his furred gown and sable 

hood; 
O'er his huge form and visage pale 
He wore a cap and shirt of mail, 
And leaned his large and wrinkled 

hand 340 

Upon the huge and sweeping 

brand 
Which wont of yore in battle fray 
His foeman's limbs to shred away, 
As wood-knife lops the sapling 

spray. 
He seemed as, from the tombs 

around 
Rising at judgment-day, 
Some giant Douglas may be 

found 
In all his old array ; 348 

So pale his face, so huge his limb, 
So old his arms, his look so grim. 

XII 

Then at the altar Wilton kneels, 
And Clare the spurs bound on his 

heels ; 
And think what next he must have 

felt 
At buckling of the falchion belt ! 
And judge how Clara changed 

her hue 
While fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger 

tried, 



i86 



MARMION 



He once had found untrue ! 
Then Douglas struck him with his 

blade : 

1 Saint Michael and Saint Andrew 

aid, 360 

I dub thee knight. 

Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir ! 

For king, for church, for lady fair, 

See that thou fight* 
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose, 
Said : k Wilton ! grieve not for thy 
woes, 
Disgrace, and trouble ; 
For He who honor best bestows 

May give thee double.' 
De Wilton sobbed, for sob he 
must: 370 

1 Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 

That Douglas is my brother ! ' 
'Nay, nay,' old Angus said, 'not 

so; 
To Surrey's camp thou now must 
go, 
Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
I have two sons in yonder field ; 
And, if thou meet'st them under 

shield, 
Upon them bravely — do thy worst, 
And foul fall him that blenches 
first ! ' 

XIII 

Not far advanced was morning 
day 380 

When Marmion did his troop ar- 
ray 
To Surrey's camp to ride 5 
He had safe-conduct for his band 
Beneath the royal seal and hand, 

And Douglas gave a guide. 
The ancient earl with stately grace 
Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
And whispered in an undertone, 
1 Let the hawk stoop, his prey is 

flown.' 

The train from out the castle 

drew, 390 

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : 

* Though something I might 

plain,' he said, 

' Of cold respect to stranger guest, 



Sent hither by your king's behest, 
While in Tantallon's towers I 

stayed, 
Part we in friendship from your 

land, 
And, noble earl, receive my 

hand.' — 
But Douglas round him drew his 

cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he 

spoke:— 
'My manors, halls, and bowers 

shall still 400 

Be open at my sovereign's will 
To each one whom he lists, bow- 
e'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
My castles are my king's alone, 
From turret to foundation-stone — 
The hand of Douglas is his own, 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion 

clasp.' 

XIV 

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek 

like fire 409 

And shook his very frame for ire, 

And — * This to me ! ' he said, 
'An 't were not for thy hoary 

beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not 

spared 
To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And first I tell thee, haughty peer, 
He who does England's message 

here, 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy 

mate; 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee 

here, 
Even in thy pitch of pride, 420 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals 

near, — 
Nay, never look upon your lord, 
And lay your hands upon your 

sword, — 
I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! 
And if thou saidst I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here, 



CANTO SIXTH 



187 



Lowland or Highland, far or near, ! 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! ' 
On the earl's cheek the flush of 

rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
Fierce he broke forth, — ' And dar- j 

est thou then 431 ■ 

To beard the lion in his den, 

The Douglas in his hall? 
And hopest thou hence unscathed \ 

to go.? — 
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, 

no! 
Up drawbridge, grooms — what, 

warder, ho ! 
Let the portcullis fall.' — 
Lord Marmion turned, — well was 

his need, — 
And dashed the rowels in his 

steed, 
Like arrow through the archway 

sprung, 440 

The ponderous grate behind him 

rung ; 
To pass there was such scanty 

room, 
The bars descending razed his 

plume. 

xv 

The steed along the drawbridge 

flies 
Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
Not lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth lake's level 

brim : 
And when Lord Marmion reached 

his band, 
He halts, and turns with clenched 

hand, 
And shout of loud defiance pours, 
And shook his gauntlet at the 

towers. 451 

• Horse ! horse ! • the Douglas 

cried, * and chase'.' 
But soon he reined his fury's pace : 
4 A royal messenger he came, 
Though most unworthy of the 

name. — 
A letter forged! Saint Jude to 

speed ! 



Did ever knight so foul a deed ? 
At first in heart it liked me ill 
When the king praised his clerkly 

skill. 
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of 
mine, 460 

Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a 

line; 
So swore I, and I swear it still, 
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — 
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! 
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas 

blood, 
I thought to slay him where he 

stood. 
'T is pity of him too,' he cried : 
4 Bold can he speak and fairly ride, 
I warrant him a warrior tried.' 
With this his mandate he re- 
calls, 470 
And slowly seeks his castle halls. 

XVI 

The day in Marmion's journey 
wore ; 

Yet, ere his passion's gust was 
o'er, 

They crossed the heights of Stan- 
rig-moor. 

His troop more closely there he 
scanned, 

And missed the Palmer from the 
band. 

1 Palmer or not,' young Blount did 
say, 

1 He parted at the peep of day ; 

Good sooth, it was in strange ar- 
ray.' 

1 In what array ? ' said Marmion 
quick. 480 

' My lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 

But all night long with clink and 
bang 

Close to my couch did hammers 
clang; 

At dawn the falling drawbridge 
rang, 

And from a loophole while I peep. 

Old Bell-the-Cat came from the 
keep, 

Wrapped in a gown of sables fair. 



1 88 



MARMION 



As fearful of the morning air ; 
Beneath, when that was blown 

aside, 
A rusty shirt of mail I spied. 49 o 
By Archibald won in bloody work 
Against the Saracen and Turk : 
Last night it hung not in the hall ; 
I thought some marvel would be- 
fall. 
And next I saw them saddled lead 
Old Cheviot forth, the earl's best 

steed, 
A matchless horse, though some- 
thing old, 
Prompt in his paces, cool and 

bold. 
I heard the Sheriff Sholto say 
The earl did much the Master 
pray 5°° 

To use him on the battle-day, 
But he preferred ' — 4 Nay, Henry, 

cease ! 
Thou sworn horse-courser, hold 

thy peace. — 
Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I 

pray, 
What did Blount see at break of 
day?' — 

XVII 

* In brief, my lord, we both de- 
scried — 
For then I stood by Henry's side — 
The Palmer mount and outwards 

ride 
Upon the earl's own favorite 

steed. 
All sheathed he was in armor 

bright, 510 

And much resembled that same 

knight 
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight ; 
Lord Angus wished him 

speed.' — 
The instant that Fitz- Eustace 

spoke, 
A sudden light on Marmion 

broke : — 
4 Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost ! ' 
He muttered ; "Twas nor fay nor 

ghost 



I met upon the moonlight wold, 
But living.man of earthly mould. — 
O dotage blind and gross ! 520 
Had I but fought as wont, one 

thrust 
Had laid De Wilton in the dust, 

My path no more to cross. — 
How stand we now ? — he told his 

tale 
To Douglas, and with some avail ; 
'T was therefore gloomed his 

rugged brow. — 
Will Surrey dare to entertain 
'Gainst Marmion charge disproved 

and vain ? 
Small risk of that, I trow. 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I 

shun, 530 

Must separate Constance from the 

nun — 
Oh ! what a tangled web we weave 
When first we practise to deceive ! 
A Palmer too ! — no wonder why 
I felt rebuked beneath his eye ; 
I might have known there was 

but one 
Whose look could quell Lord Mar- 
mion.' 

XVIII 

Stung with these thoughts, he 

urged to speed 
His troop, and reached at eve the 

Tweed, 
Where Lennel's convent closed 

their march. 540 

There now is left but one frail arch, 

Yet mourn thou not its cells; 
Our time a fair exchange has 

made: 
Hard by, in hospitable shade, 
A reverend pilgrim dwells, 
Well worth the whole Bernardine 

brood 
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or 

hood. — 
Yet did Saint Bernard's abbot 

there 
Give Marmion entertainment fair, 
And lodging for his train and 

Clare. 55° 



CANTO SIXTH 



189 



Next morn the baron climbed the 
tower, 

To view afar the Scottish power, 
Encamped on Flodden edge ; 

The white pavilions made a show 

Like remnants of the winter snow 
Along the dusky ridge. 

Long Marmion looked : — at length 
his eye 

Unusual movement might descry 
Amid the shifting lines ; 

The Scottish host drawn out ap- 
pears, 560 

For, flashing on the hedge of 
spears, 
The eastern sunbeam shines. 

Their front now deepening, now 
extending, 

Their flank inclining, wheeling, 
bending, 

Now drawing back, and now de- 
scending, 

The skilful Marmion well could 
know 

They watched the motions of some 
foe 

Who traversed on the plain below. 

XIX 

Even so it was. From Flodden 
ridge 

The Scots beheld the English 
host 570 

Leave Barmore-wood, their even- 
ing post. 

And heedful watched them as 
they crossed 
The Till by Twisel Bridge. 

High sight it is and haughty, 
while 

They dive into the deep defile ; 

Beneath the caverned cliff they 
fall, 

Beneath the castle's airy wall. 
By rock, by oak, by hawthorn- 
tree, 

Troop after troop are disappear- 
ing; 

Troop after troop their banners 
rearing 580 

Upon the eastern bank you see ; 



Still pouring down the rocky den 

Where flows the sullen Till, 
And rising from the dim-wood 

glen, 
Standards on standards, men on 

men, 
In slow succession still, 
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, 
And pressing on, in ceaseless 

march, 
To gain the opposing hill. 
That morn, to many a trumpet 

clang, 590 

Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 
And many a chief of birth and 

rank, 
Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
Thy hawthorn glade, which now 

we see 
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly, 
Had then from many an axe its 

doom, 
To give the marching columns 

room. 

xx 

And why stands Scotland idly now, 
Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow, 
Since England gains the pass the 

while, 600 

And struggles through the deep 

defile ? 
W T hat checks the fiery soul of 

James ? 
Why sits that champion of the 

dames 
Inactive on his steed, 
And sees, between him and his 

land, 
Between him and Tweed's south- 
ern strand, 
His host Lord Surrey lead? 
What vails the vain knight-er rant's 

brand ? — 
Douglas, for thy leading wand ! 
Fierce Randolph, for thy speed ! 
Oh ! for one hour of Wallace wight, 
Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the 

fight 612 

And cry, ' Saint Andrew and our 

right ! ' 



190 



MARMION 



Another sight had seen that mora, 

From Fate's dark book a leaf been 
torn, 

And Flodden had been Bannock- 
bourne ! — 

The precious hour has passed in 
vain, 

And England's host has gained the 
plain. 

Wheeling their march and circling 
still 619 

Around the base of Flodden hill. 

XXI 

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's 

eye, 
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and 

high, 
' Hark ! hark ! my lord, an English 

drum ! 
And see ascending squadrons 

come 
Between Tweed's river and the 

hill, 
Foot, horse, and cannon ! Hap 

what hap, 
My basnet to a prentice cap, 

Lord Surrey 's o'er the Till ! — 
Yet more ! yet more ! — how fair 

arrayed 
They file from out the hawthorn 

shade, 630 

And sweep so gallant by ! 
With all their banners bravely 

spread, 
And all their armor flashing high, 
Saint George might waken from 

the dead, 
To see fair England's standards 

fly.'- 
• Stint in thy prate,' quoth Blount, 

'thou'dst best, 
And listen to our lord's behest.' — 
With kindling brow Lord Marmion 

said, 
' This instant be our band arrayed ; 
The river must be quickly crossed, 
That we may join Lord Surrey's 

host. 641 

If fight King James, —as well I 

trust 



That fight he will, and fight he 

must, — 
The Lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry while the battle joins.' 

XXII 

Himself he swift on horseback 

threw, 
Scarce to the abbot bade adieu, 
Far less would listen to his prayer 
To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
Down to the Tweed his band he 

drew, 650 

And muttered as the flood they 

view, 
1 The pheasant in the falcon's claw, 
He scarce will yield to please a 

daw; 
Lord Angus may the abbot awe, 

So Clare shall bide with me.' 
Then on that dangerous ford and 

deep 
Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies 

creep 
He ventured desperately : 
And not a moment will he bide 
Till squire or groom before him 

ride ; 660 

Headmost of all he stems the tide, 

And stems it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse, 

Old Hubert led her rein, 
Stoutly they braved the current's 

course, 
And, though far downward driven 

perforce, 
The southern bank they gain. 
Behind them straggling came to 

shore, 
As best they might, the train : 
Each o'er his head his yew-bow 

bore, 670 

A caution not in vain ; 
Deep need that day that every 

string, 
By wet unharmed, should sharply 

ring. 
A moment then Lord Marmion 

stayed, 
And breathed his steed, his men 

arrayed, 



CANTO SIXTH 



191 



Then forward moved his band, 
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard 

won, 
He halted by a cross of stone, 
That on a hillock standing lone 

Did all the field command. 680 

XXIII 

Hence might they see the full ar- 
ray 
Of either host for deadly fray j 
Their marshalled lines stretched 
east and west, 
And fronted north and south, 
And distant salutation passed 

From the loud cannon mouth ; 
Not in the close successive rattle 
That breathes the voice of modern 
battle, 
But slow and far between. 
The hillock gained, Lord Marmion 
stayed : 690 

'Here, by this cross,' he gently 
said, 
1 You well may view the scene. 
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 
Oh! think of Marmion in thy 

prayer ! — 
Thou wilt not? — well, no less my 

care 
Shall, watchful, for thy weal pre- 
pare. — 
You, Blount and Eustace, are her 
guard, 
With ten picked archers of my 
train ; 
With England if the day go hard, 
To Berwick speed amain. — 700 
But if we conquer, cruel maid, 
My spoils shall at your feet be 
laid, 
When here we meet again.' 
He waited not for answer there, 
And would not mark the maid's 
despair, 
Nor heed the discontented look 
From either squire, but spurred 

amain, 
And, dashing through the battle- 
plain, 
His way to Surrey took. 



xxrv 

' The good Lord Marmion, by my 
life! 710 

Welcome to danger's hour! — 
Short greeting serves in time of 
strife. — 
Thus have I ranged my power: 
Myself will rule this central host, 
Stout Stanley fronts their right, 
My sons command the vaward 
post, 
With Brian Tunstall, stainless 

knight; 
Lord Dacre, with his horsemen 

light, 

Shall be in rearward of the fight, 

And succor those that need it 

most. 720 

Now, gallant Marmion, well I 

know, 
Would gladly to the vanguard 
go; 
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall 

there, 
With thee their charge will blithe- 
ly share ; 
There fight thine own retainers 

too 
Beneath De Burg, thy steward 

true.' 
4 Thanks, noble Surrey ! ' Marmion 

said, 
Nor further greeting there he paid, 
But, parting like a thunderbolt, 
First in the vanguard made a 
halt, 730 

Where such a shout there rose 
Of ' Marmion ! Marmion ! ' that the 

cry, 
Up Flodden mountain shrilling 
high, 
Startled the Scottish foes. 

XXV 

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested 

still 
With Lady Clare upon the hill, 
On which — for far the day was 

spent — 
The western sunbeams now were 

bent; 



192 



MARMION 



The cry they heard, its meaning 

knew, 
Could plain their distant comrades 

view : 740 

Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
' Unworthy office here to stay ! 
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
But see ! look up ! on Flodden bent 
The Scottish foe has fired his tent.' 

And sudden, as he spoke, 
From the sharp ridges of the hill, 
All downward to the banks of Till, 

Was wreathed in sable smoke. 
Volumed and vast, and rolling far, 
The cloud enveloped Scotland's 

war 751 

As down the hill they broke ; 
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel 

tone, 
Announced their march ; their 

tread alone, 
At times one warning trumpet 

blown, 
At times a stifled hum, 
Told England, from his mountain- 

throne 
King James did rushing come. 
Scarce could they hear or see their 

foes 759 

Until at weapon-point they close. — 
They close in clouds of smoke and 

dust, 
With sword-sway and with lance's 

thrust ; 
And such a yell was there, 
Of sudden and portentous birth, 
As if men fought upon the earth, 

And fiends in upper air; 
Oh! life and death were in the 

shout, 
Recoil and rally, charge and rout, 

And triumph and despair. 
Long looked the anxious squires ; 

their eye 770 

Could in the darkness nought de- 
scry. 

XXVI 

At length the freshening western 

blast 
Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 



And first the ridge of mingled 

spears 
Above the brightening cloud ap- 
pears, 
And in the smoke the pennons 

flew, 
As in the storm the white sea- 
mew. 
Then marked they, dashing broad 

and far, 
The broken billows of the war, 
And plumed crests of chieftains 

brave 780 

Floating like foam upon the wave ; 

But nought distinct they see : 
Wide raged the battle on the 

plain ; 
Spears shook and falchions flashed 

amain ; 
Fell England's arrow-flight like 

rain; 
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose 

again, 
Wild and disorderly. 
Amid the scene of tumult, high 
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon 

fly; 
And stainless TunstalPs banner 

white, 790 

And Edmund Howard's lion bright, 
Still bear them bravely in the fight, 

Although against them come 
Of gallant Gordons many a one, 
And many a stubborn Badenoch- 

man, 
And many a rugged Border clan, 
With Huntly and with Home. 

XXVII 

Far on the left, unseen the while, 

Stanley broke Lennox and Ar- 
gyle, 

Though there the western moun- 
taineer 800 

Rushed with bare bosom on the 
spear, 

And flung the feeble targe aside, 

And with both hands the broad, 
sword plied. 

'T was vain. — But Fortune, on the 
right, 



CANTO SIXTH 



193 



With fickle smile cheered Scot- 
land's fight. 
Then fell that spotless banner 

white, 
The Howard's lion fell ; 
Yet still Lord Marinion's falcon 

flew 
With wavering flight, while fiercer 

grew 
Around the battle-yell. 810 

The Border slogan rent the sky ! 
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : 

Loud were the clanging blows ; 
Advanced, — forced back, — now 

low, now high, 
The pennon sunk and rose ; 
As bends the bark's-mast in the 

gale, 
When rent are rigging, shrouds, 

and sail, 
It wavered mid the foes. 
No longer Blount the view could 

bear: 
1 By heaven and all its saints ! I 

swear 820 

I will not see it lost ! 
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
May bid your beads and patter 

prayer, — 
I gallop to the host.' 
And to the fray he rode amain, 
Followed by all the archer train. 
The fiery youth, with desperate 

charge, 
Made for a space an opening 

large,— 
The rescued banner rose, — 829 
But darkly closed the war around, 
Like pine-tree rooted from the 

ground 
It sank among the foes. 
Then Eustace mounted too, — yet 

stayed, 
As loath to leave the helpless 

maid, 
When, fast as shaft can fly, 
Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils 

spread, 
The loose rein dangling from his 

head, 
Housing and saddle bloody red, 



Lord Marmion's steed rushed 
by; 
And Eustace, maddening at the 
sight, 840 

A look and sign to Clara cast 
To mark he would return in 
haste, 
Then plunged into the fight. 

XXYIII 

Ask me not what the maiden feels, 

Left in that dreadful hour alone : 

Perchance her reason stoops or 

reels ; 

Perchance a courage, not her 

own, 
Braces her mind to desperate 
tone. — 
The scattered van of England 
wheels ; — 
She only said, as loud in air 850 
The tumult roared, ' Is Wilton 

there ? ' — 
They fly, or, maddened by de- 
spair, 
Fight but to die, —'Is Wilton 
there ? ' 
With that, straight up the hill 
there rode 
Two horsemen drenched with 
gore, 
And in their arms, a helpless load, 

AVounded knight they bore. 
His hand still strained the broken 

brand ; 
His arms were smeared with blood 

and sand. 
Dragged from among the horses' 
feet, 860 

With dinted shield and helmet 

beat, 
The falcon - crest and plumage 

gone, 
Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . . 
Young Blount his armor did un- 
lace, 
And, gazing on his ghastly face, 
Said, 'By Saint George, he's 
gone ! 
That spear-wound has our master 
sped, 



194 



MARMION 



And see the deep cut on his head ! 

Good-night to Marmion.' — 
4 Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling 

cease : 870 

He opes his eyes,' said Eustace; 

4 peace ! ' 

XXIX 

When, doffed his casque, he felt 

free air, 
Around gan Marmion wildly stare : 
'Where's Harry Blount? Fitz- 

Eustace where ? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 
Redeem my pennon, — charge 

again ! 
Cry, " Marmion to the rescue ! " — 

Vain! 
Last of my race, on battle-plain 
That shout shall ne'er be heard 

again ! — 
Yet my last thought is England's 
— fly, 880 

To Dacre bear my signet-ring ; 
Tell him his squadrons up to 
bring. — 
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie : 
Tunstall lies dead upon the field, 
His lifeblood stains the spotless 

shield ; 
Edmund is down : my life is reft ; 
The Admiral alone is left. 
Let Stanley charge with spur of 

fire,— 
With Chester charge, and Lanca- 
shire, 
Full upon Scotland's central host, 
Or victory and England's lost.— 8qi 
Must I bid twice ? — hence, var- 
lets ! fly ! — , 
Leave Marmion here alone — to 

die.' 
They parted, and alone he lay ; 
Clare drew her from the sight 
away, 
Till pain wrung forth a lowlymoan, 
And half he murmured, ' Is there 
none 
Of all my halls have nurst, 
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to 
bring 



Of blessed water from the spring, 
To slake my dying thirst ! ' 901 

XXX 

O Woman ! in our hours of ease 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 
And variable as the shade 
By the light quivering aspen made ; 
When pain and anguish wring the 

brow, 
A ministering angel thou ! — 
Scarce were the piteous accents 

said, 
When with the baron's casque the 

maid 
To the nigh streamlet ran: 910 
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and 

fears ,• 
The plaintive voice alone she 

hears, 
Sees but the dying man. 
She stooped her by the runnel's 

side, 
But in abhorrence backward 

drew; 
For, oozing from the mountain's 

side 
Where raged the war, a dark-red 

tide 
Was curdling in the streamlet 

blue. 
Where shall she turn?— behold 

her mark 
A little fountain cell, 920 

Where water, clear as diamond- 
spark, 
In a stone basin fell. 
Above, some half-worn letters say, 
Brink, foears. pilgrim. Drink, ano, 

pran. 
jfor. tfjc. Stnti.'fcoul. of. .StopL (Srrg. 
raf)o- outlt. tf)ts. cross, ano. torll.. 
She filled the helm and back she 

hied, 
And with surprise and joy espied 
A monk supporting Marmion's 

head ; 929 

A pious man, whom duty brought 

To dubious verge of battle fought, 

To shrieve the dying, bless the 

dead. 



CANTO SIXTH 



195 



XXXI 

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the 

wave, 
And, as she stooped his brow to 

lave — 
' Is it the hand of Clare,' he said, 
4 Or injured Constance, bathes my 

head ? • 
Then, as remembrance rose,— 
' Speak not to me of shrift or 

prayer ! 
I must redress her woes. 
Short space, few words, are mine 

to spare ; 940 

Forgive and listen, gentle 

Clare ! ' — 
4 Alas ! ■ she said, ' the while, — 
Oh ! think of your immortal weal ! 
In vain for Constance is your 

zeal; 
She — died at Holy Isle.'— 
Lord Marmion started from the 

ground 
As light as if he felt no wound, 
Though in the action burst the 

tide 
In torrents from his wounded 

side. 
4 Then it was truth,' he said — * I 

knew 950 

That the dark presage must be 

true. — 
I would the Fiend, to whom be- 
longs 
The vengeance due to all her 

wrongs, 
Would spare me but a day ! 
For wasting fire, and dying groan, 
And priests slain on the altar 

stone, 
Might bribe him for delay. 
It may not be ! — this dizzy 

trance — 
Curse on yon base marauder's 

lance, 
And doubly cursed my failing 

brand I 960 

A sinful heart makes feeble hand.' 
Then fainting down on earth he 

sunk, 
Supported by the trembling monk. 



XXXII 

With fruitless labor Clara bound 
And strove to stanch the gushing 

wound ; 
The monk with unavailing cares 
Exhausted all the Church's 

prayers. 
Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
A lady's voice was in his ear, 
And that the priest he could not 

hear ; 970 

For that she ever sung, 
4 In the lost battle, borne down by 

the flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle with 

groans of the dying ! ■ 
So the notes rung.— 
4 Avoid thee, Fiend! — with cruel 

hand 
Shake not the dying sinner's 

sand! — 
Oh ! look, my son, upon yon sign 
Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 

Oh ! think on faith and bliss ! — 
By many a death-bed I have been, 
And many a sinner's parting 

seen, 981 

But never aught like this.' — 
The war, that for a space did fail, 
Now trebly thundering swelled 

the gale, 
And 4 Stanley ! ' was the cry.— 
A light on Marmion' s visage 

spread, 
And fired his glazing eye ; 
With dying hand above his head 
He shook the fragment of his 

blade, 
And shouted 4 Victory ! — 990 
Charge, Chester, charge! On, 

Stanley, on ! ' 
Were the last words of Marmion. 

XXXIII 

By this, though deep the evening 

fell, 
Still rose the battle's deadly swell, 
For still the Scots around their 

king, 
Unbroken, fought in desperate 

ring. 



196 



MARMION 



Where 's now their victor vaward 
wing, 
Where Hnntly, and where 
Home? — 
Oh ! for a blast of that dread horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 1000 
That to King Charles did come, 
When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
And every paladin and peer, 

On Roncesvalles died ! 
Such blasts might warn them, not 

in vain, 
To quit the plunder of the slain 
And turn the doubtful day again, 

While yet on Flodden side 
Afar the Royal Standard flies, 
And round it toils and bleeds and 
dies 1010 

Our Caledonian pride ! 
In vain the wish — for far away, 
While spoil and havoc mark their 

way, 
Near Sibyl's Cross the plunderers 

stray. — 
1 lady,' cried the monk, 6 away ! ' 

And placed her on her steed, 
And led her to the chapel fair 

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
There all the night they spent in 

prayer, 
And at the dawn of morning there 
She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz- 
Clare. 102 1 

XXXIV 

But as they left the darkening 
heath 

More desperate grew the strife of 
death. 

The English shafts in volleys 
hailed, 

In headlong charge their horse as- 
sailed ; 

Front, flank, and rear, the squad- 
rons sweep 

To break the Scottish circle deep 
That fought around their king. 

But yet, though thick the shafts as 
snow, 

Though charging knights like 
whirlwinds go, 1030 



Though billmen ply the ghastly 

blow, 
Unbroken was the ring ; 
The stubborn spearmen still made 

good 
Their dark impenetrable wood, 
Each stepping where his comrade 

stood 
The instant that he fell. 
No thought was there of dastard 

flight; 
Linked in the serried phalanx 

tight, 
Groom fought like noble, squire 

like knight, 
As fearlessly and well, 1040 

Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er their thin host and wounded 

king. 
Then skilful Surrey's sage com- 
mands 
Led back from strife his shattered 

bands ; 
And from the charge they drew, 
As mountain-waves from wasted 

lands 
Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foemen 

know ; 
Their king, their lords, their might- 
iest low, 
They melted from the field, as 

snow, 1050 

When streams are swoln and 

south winds blow, 
Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweed's echoes heard the cease- 

less plash, 
While many a broken band 
Disordered through her currents 

dash, 
To gain the Scottish land ; 
To town and tower, to down and 

dale, 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, 
And raise the universal wail. 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song 
Shall many an age that wail pro- 
long; 106 1 
Still from the sire the son shall 

hear 



CANTO SIXTH 



197 



Of the stern strife and carnage 
drear 
Of Flodden's fatal field, 
Where shivered was fair Scotland's 
spear 
And broken was her shield ! 

XXXV 

Day dawns upon the mountain's 

side. 
There, Scotland! lay thy bravest 

pride, 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many 

a one ; 
The sad survivors all are 

gone. — 1070 

View not that corpse mistrustfully, 
Defaced and mangled though it 

be; 
Nor to yon Border castle high 
Look northward with upbraiding 

eye; 
Nor cherish hope in vain 
That, journeying far on foreign 

strand, 
The Royal Pilgrim to his land 

May yet return again. 
He saw the wreck his rashness 

wrought ; 
Reckless of life, he desperate 

fought, 1080 

And fell on Flodden plain : 
And well in death his trusty 

brand, 
Firm clenched within his manly 

hand, 
Beseemed the monarch slain. 
But oh! how changed since yon 

blithe night ! — 
Gladly I turn me from the sight 
Unto my tale again. 

XXXVI 

Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' 

care 
A pierced and mangled body bare 
To moated Lichfield's lofty 

pile ; 1090 

And there, beneath the southern 

aisle, 



A tomb with Gothic sculpture 

fair 
Did long Lord Marmion's image 

bear. — 
Now vainly for its site you look ; 
'T was levelled when fanatic 

Brook 
The fair cathedral stormed and 

took, 
But, thanks to Heaven and good 

Saint Chad, 
A guerdon meet the spoiler 

had ! — 
There erst was martial Marmion 

found, 
His feet upon a couchant 

hound, 1 100 

His hands to heaven upraised ; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich, 
And tablet carved, and fretted 

niche, 
His arms and feats were 

blazed. 
And yet, though all was carved so 

fair, 
And priest for Marmion breathed 

the prayer, 
The last Lord Marmion lay not 

there. 
From Ettrick woods a peasant 

swain 
Followed his lord to Flodden 

plain, — 
One of those flowers whom plain- 
tive lay 1 1 10 
In Scotland mourns as 'wede 

away : ' 
Sore wounded, Sibyl's Cross he 

spied, 
And dragged him to its foot, and 

died 
Close by the noble Marmion's 

side. 
The spoilers stripped and gashed 

the slain, 
And thus their corpses were mis- 

ta'en ; 
And thus in the proud baron's 

tomb 
The lowly woodsman took the 

room. 



198 



MARMION 



XXXVII 

Less easy task it were to show 
Lord Marmion's nameless grave 

and low. 1120 

They dug his grave e'en where he 

lay, 
But every mark is gone : 
Time's wasting hand has done 

away 
The simple Cross of Sibyl Grey, 
And broke her font of stone ; 
But yet from out the little hill 
Oozes the slender springlet still. 

Oft halts the stranger there, 
For thence may best his curious 

eye 
The memorable field descry ; 1130 

And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-flag and rush, 
And rest them by the hazel bush, 

And plait their garlands fair, 
Nor dream they sit upon the grave 
That holds the bones of Marmion 

brave. — 
When thou shalt find the little hill, 
With thy heart commune and be 

still. 
If ever in temptation strong 
Thou left'st the right path for the 

wrong, 1 140 

If every devious step thus trod 
Still led thee further from the 

road, 
Dreatf thou to speak presumptu- 

ous doom 
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; 
But say, 4 He died a gallant 

knight, 
With sword in hand, for England's 

right' 

XXXVIII 

I do not rhyme to that dull elf 
Who cannot image to himself 
That all through Flodden's dismal 

night 
Wilton was foremost in the 

fight, 1 150 

That when brave Surrey's steed 

was slain 
'T was Wilton mounted him again ; 



'T was Wilton's brand that deep- 
est hewed 
Amid the spearmen's stubborn 

wood : 
Unnamed by Holinshed or Hall, 
He was the living soul of all; 
That, after fight, his faith made 

plain, 
He won his rank and lands again, 
And charged his old paternal 

shield 
With bearings won on Flodden 

Field. 1 1 60 

Nor sing I to that simple maid 
To whom it must in terms be said 
That king and kinsmen did agree 
To bless fair Clara's constancy; 
Who cannot, unless I relate, 
Paint to her mind the bridal's 

state, — 
That Wolsey's voice the blessing 

spoke, 
More, Sands, and Denny, passed 

the joke ; 
That bluff King Hal the curtain 

drew, 
And Katherine's hand the stocking 

threw; 1170 

And afterwards, for many a day, 
That it was held enough to say, 
In blessing to a wedded pair, 
1 Love they like Wilton and like 

Clare ! » 



L'ENVOY 

TO THE READER 

Why then a final note prolong, 
Or lengthen out a closing song, 
Unless to bid the gentles speed, 
Who long have listed to my rede? 
To statesmen grave, if such may 

deign 
To read the minstrel's idle strain, 
Sound head, clean hand, and pier- 
cing wit, 
And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! 
A garland for the hero's crest, 
And twined by her he loves the 
best! 



CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE 



199 



To every lovely lady bright, 
What can I wish but faithful 

knight? 
To every faithful lover too, 
What can I wish but lady true ? 
And knowledge to the studious 

sage, 
And pillow soft to head of age ! 



To thee, dear school-boy, whom 
my lay 

Has cheated of thy hour of play, 

Light task and merry holiday ! 

To all, to each, a fair good- 
night, 

And pleasing dreams, and slum- 
bers light ! 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



TO 
THE MOST NOBLE 

JOHN JAMES, MARQUIS OF ABERCORN, 
&c, &c, &c, 

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY 
THE AUTHOR 



ARGUMENT 



The scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, 
in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The time of Action includes Six Days, 
and the transactions of each Day occupy a Canto. 



CANTO FIRST 



THE CHASE 



Harp of the North ! that moulder- 
ing long hast hung 
On the witch-elm that shades 
Saint Fillan's spring, 
And down the fitful breeze thy 
numbers flung, 
Till envious ivy did around thee 
cling, 
Muffling with verdant ringlet every 
string,— 
Minstrel Harp, still must thine 
accents sleep ? 



Mid rustling leaves and fountains 

murmuring, 
Still must thy sweeter sounds 

their silence keep, 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach 

a maid to weep ? 

Not thus, in ancient days of Cale- 
don, 10 

Was thy voice mute amid the 
festal crowd, 
When lay of hopeless love, or glory 
won, 
Aroused the fearful or subdued 
the proud. 



200 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



At each according pause was 
heard aloud 
Thine ardent symphony sublime 
and high ! 

Fair dames and crested chiefs at- 
tention bowed ; 
For still the burden of thy min- 
strelsy 

Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, 
and Beauty's matchless eye. 

O, wake once more ! how rude 
soe'er the hand 
That ventures o'er thy magic 
maze to stray ; 20 

O, wake once more ! though scarce 
my skill command 
Some feeble echoing of thine 
earlier lay : 
Though harsh and faint, and soon 
to die away, 
And all unworthy of thy nobler 
strain, 
Yet if one heart throb higher at its 
sway, 
The wizard note has not been 
touched in vain. 
Then silent be no more ! Enchant- 
ress, wake again ! 



The stag at eve had drunk his fill, 
Where danced the moon on Mo- 
nan's rill, 
And deep his midnight lair had 
made 30 

In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 
But when the sun his beacon red 
Had kindled on Benvoirlich'shead, 
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's 

heavy bay 
Resounded up the rocky way, 
And faint, from farther distance 

borne, 
Were heard the clanging hoof and 
horn. 

11 

As Chief, who hears his warder 

call, 
4 To arms ! the foemen storm the 

wall,' 



The antlered monarch of the 

waste 40 

Sprung from his heathery couch 

in haste. 
But ere his fleet career he took, 
The dew-drops from his flanks he 

shook ; 
Like crested leader proud and 

high 
Tossed his beamed frontlet to the 

sky; 
A moment gazed adown the dale, 
A moment snuffed the tainted 

gale, 
A moment listened to the cry, 
That thickened as the chase drew 

nigh; 
Then, as the headmost foes ap- 
peared, 50 
With one brave bound the copse 

he cleared, 
And, stretching forward free and 

far, 
Sought the wild heaths of Uam- 

Yar. 

111 

Yelled on the view the opening 

pack; 
Rock, glen, and cavern paid them 

back; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awakened mountain gave re- 
sponse. 
A hundred dogs bayed deep and 

strong, 
Clattered a hundred steeds along, 
Their peal the merry horns rung 

out, 60 

A hundred voices joined the shout ; 
With hark and whoop and wild 

halloo, 
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. 
Far from the tumult fled the roe, 
Close in her covert cowered the 

doe, 
The falcon, from her cairn on high, 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
Till far beyond her piercing ken 
The hurricane had swept the glen. 
Faint, and more faint, its failing 

din 70 



CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE 



201 



Returned from cavern, cliff, and 

linn, 
And silence settled, wide and still, 
On the lone wood and mighty hill. 

IV 

Less loud the sounds of sylvan war 
Disturbed the heights of Uam- Var, 
And roused the cavern where, 't is 

told, 
A giant made his den of old ; 
For ere that steep ascent was won, 
High in his pathway hung the sun, 
And many a gallant, stayed per- 
force, 80 
Was fain to breathe his faltering 

horse, 
And of the trackers of the deer 
Scarce half the lessening pack was 

near; 
So shrewdly on the mountain-side 
Had the bold burst their mettle 
tried. 



The noble stag was pausing now 
Upon the mountain's southern 

brow, 
Where broad extended, far be- 

neath, 
The varied realms of fairMenteith. 
With anxious eye he wandered 

o'er 90 

Mountain and meadow, moss and 

moor, 
And pondered refuge from his toil, 
By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
But nearer was the copsewood 

gray 
That waved and wept on Loch 

Achray, 
And mingled with the pine-trees 

blue 
On the bold cliffs of Benvenue. 
Fresh vigor with the hope re- 
turned, 
With flying foot the heath he 

spurned, 
Held westward with unw r earied 

race, 100 

And left behind the panting chase. 



VI 

'Twere long to tell what steeds 

gave o'er, 
As swept the hunt through Cam- 

busmore ; 
What reins were tightened in de- 
spair, 
When rose Benledi's ridge in air ; 
Who flagged upon Bochastle's 

heath, 
Who shunned to stem the flooded 

Teith,— 
For twice that day, from shore to 

shore, , 

The gallant stag swam stoutly 

o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, following 

far, no 

That reached the lake of Venna- 

char; 
And when the Brigg of Turk was 

won, 
The headmost horseman rode 

alone. 

VII 

Alone, but with unbated zeal, 
That horseman plied the scourge 

and steel ; 
For jaded now, and spent with toil, 
Embossed with foam, and dark 

with soil, 
While every gasp with sobs he 

drew, 
The laboring stag strained full in 

view. 
Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's 

breed, 120 

Unmatched for courage, breath, 

and speed, 
Fast on his flying traces came, 
And all but won that desperate 

game ; 
For, scarce a spear's length from 

his haunch, 
Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds 

stanch ; 
Nor nearer might the dogs attain, 
Nor farther might the quarry 

strain. 
Thus up the margin of the lake, 



202 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Between the precipice and brake, 

O'er stock and rock their race they 

take. 130 

VIII 

The Hunter marked that moun- 
tain high, 

The lone lake's western bound- 
ary, 

And deemed the stag must turn to 
bay, 

Where that huge rampart barred 
the way ; 

Already glorying in the prize, 

Measured his antlers with his eyes ; 

For the death-wound and death- 
halloo 

Mustered his breath, his whinyard 
drew : — 

But thundering as he came pre- 
pared, 

With ready arm and weapon 
bared, 140 

The wily quarry shunned the 
shock, 

And turned him from the opposing 
rock; 

Then, dashing down a darksome 
glen, 

Soon lost to hound and Hunter's 
ken, 

In the deep Trosachs' wildest 
nook 

His solitary refuge took. 

There, while close couched the 
thicket shed 

Cold dews and wild flowers on his 
head. 

He heard the baffled dogs in vain 

Rave through the hollow pass 
amain, 150 

Chiding the rocks that yelled 
again. 

IX 

Close on the hounds the Hunter 

came, 
To cheer them on the vanished 

game; 
But, stumbling in the rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 



The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and 

rein, 
For the good steed, his labors 

o'er, 
Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no 

more; 
Then, touched with pity and re. 

morse, 160 

He sorrowed o'er the expiring 

horse. 
1 1 little thought, when first thy 

rein 
I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 
That Highland eagle e'er should 

feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless 

steed ! 
Woe worth the chase, woe worth 

the day, 
That costs thy life, my gallant 

gray ! ' 



Then through the dell his horn 

resounds, 
From vain pursuit to call the 

hounds. 
Back limped, with slow and crip- 
pled pace, 170 
The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
Close to their master's side they 

pressed, 
With drooping tail and humbled 

crest ; 
Bnt still the dingle's hollow throat 
Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 
The owlets started from their 

dream, 
The eagles answered with their 

scream, 
Round and around the sounds 

were cast, 
Till echo seemed an answering 

blast; 179 

And on the Hunter hied his way, 
To join some comrades of the day, 
Yet often paused, so strange the 

road, 
So wondrous were the scenes it 

showed. 



CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE 



203 



XI 

The western waves of ebbing day 
Rolled o'er the glen their level 

way ; 
Each purple peak, each flinty 

spire, 
Was bathed in floods of lft ing 

fire. 
But not a setting beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below, 
Where twined the path in shadow 

hid, 190 

Round many a rocky pyramid, 
Shooting abruptly from the dell 
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle ; 
Round many an insulated mass, 
The native bulwarks of the pass, 
Huge as the tower which builders 

vain 
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's 

plain. 
The rocky summits, split and rent, 
Formed turret, dome, or battle- 

ment, 
Or seemed fantastically set 200 
With cupola or minaret, 
W r ild crests as pagod ever decked, 
Or mosque of Eastern architect. 
Nor were these earth-born castles 

bare, 
Nor lacked they many a banner 

fair; 
For, from their shivered brows 

displayed, 
Far o'er the unfathomable glade, 
All twinkling with the dewdrop 

sheen, 
The brier-rose fell in streamers 

green, 
And creeping shrubs of thousand 

dyes 210 

Waved in the west-wind's summer 

sighs. 

XII 

Boon nature scattered, free and 
wild, 

Each plant or flower, the moun- 
tain's child. 

Here eglantine embalmed the air, 

Hawthorn and hazel mingled 
there ; 



The primrose pale and violet 

flower 
Found in each clift a narrow 

bower; 
Foxglove and nightshade, side by 

side, 
Emblems of punishment and pride, 
Grouped their dark hues with 

every stain 220 

The weather-beaten crags retain. 
W 7 ith boughs that quaked at every 

breath, 
Gray birch and aspen wept be- 
neath ; 
Aloft, the ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung 
His shattered trunk, and frequent 

flung, 
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on 

high, 
His boughs athwart the narrowed 

sky. 
Highest of all, where white peaks 

glanced, 230 

Where glistening streamers waved 

and danced, 
The wanderer's eye could barely 

view 
The summer heaven's delicious 

blue; 
So wondrous wild, the whole might 

seem 
The scenery of a fairy dream. 

xiir 

Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 

A narrow inlet, still and deep, 

Affording scarce such breadth of 
brim 

As served the wild duck's brood 
to swim. 

Lost for a space, through thickets 
veering, 240 

But broader when again appear- 
ing, 

Tall rocks and tufted knolls their 
face 

Could on the dark-blue mirror 
trace ; 

And farther as the Hunter strayed, 



204 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Still broader sweep its channels 

made. 
The shaggy mounds no longer 

stood, 
Emerging from entangled wood, 
But, wave-encircled, seemed to 

float, 
Like castle girdled with its moat ; 
Yet broader floods extending still 
Divide them from their parent 

hill, 251 

Till each, retiring, claims to be 
An islet in an inland sea. 

XIV 

And now, to issue from the glen, 
No pathway meets the wanderer's 

ken, 
Unless he climb with footing nice 
A far-projecting precipice. 
The broom's tough roots his ladder 

made, 
The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 
And thus an airy point he won, 
Where, gleaming with the setting 
sun, 261 

One burnished sheet of living 

gold, 
Loch Katrine lay beneath him 

rolled, 
In all her length far winding 

. lay, 
With promontory, creek, and bay, 
And islands that, empurpled 

bright, 
Floated amid the livelier light, 
And mountains that like giants 

stand 
To sentinel enchanted land. 
High on the south, huge Benve- 
nue 270 

Down to the lake in masses threw 
Crags, knolls, and mounds, con- 
fusedly hurled, 
The fragments of an earlier world ; 
A wildering forest feathered o'er 
His ruined sides and summit hoar, 
While on the north, through mid- 
dle air, 
Ben-an heaved high his forehead 
bare. 



xv 

From the steep promontory gazed 
The stranger, raptured and 

amazed, 
And, ' What a scene were here,' 

he cried, 280 

1 For princely pomp or church- 

man's pride ! 
On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 
In that soft vale, a lady's bower ; 
On yonder meadow far away, 
The turrets of a cloister gray ; 
How blithely might the bugle-horn 
Chide on the lake the lingering 

morn ! 
How sweet at eve the lover's lute 
Chime when the groves were still 

and mute ! 
And when the midnight moon 

should lave 290 

Her forehead in the silver wave, 
How solemn on the ear would 

come 
The holy matins' distant hum, 
While the deep peal's commanding 

tone 
Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 
A sainted hermit from his cell, 
To drop a bead with every knell ! 
And bugle, lute, and bell, and 

»all, 
Should each bewildered stranger 

call 299 

To friendly feast and lighted hall. 

xvi 

4 Blithe were it then to wander 

here! 
But now — beshrew yon nimble 

deer — 
Like that same hermit's, thin and 

spare, 
The copse must give my evening 

fare ; 
Some mossy bank my couch must 

be, 
Some rustling oak my canopy. 
Yet pass we that ; the war and 

chase 
Give little choice of resting- 
place ; — 



CANTO FIRST : THE CHASE 



205 



A summer night in greenwood 
spent 309 

Were but to-morrow's merriment : 

But hosts may in these wilds 
abound, 

Such as are better missed than 
found ; 

To meet with Highland plunderers 
here 

Were worse than loss of steed or 
deer. — 

I am alone ; — my bugle-strain 

May call some straggler of the 
train ; 

Or, fall the worst that may be- 
tide, 

Ere now this falchion has been 
tried.' 

XVII 

But scarce again his horn he 

wound, 
When lo! forth starting at the 

sound, 320 

From underneath an aged oak 
That slanted from the islet rock, 
A damsel guider of its way, 
A little skiff shot to the bay, 
That round the promontory steep 
Led its deep line in graceful sweep, 
Eddying, in almost viewless wave, 
The weeping willow twig to lave, 
And kiss, with whispering sound 

and slow, 
The beach of pebbles bright as 

snow. 330 

The boat had touched this silver 

strand 
Just as the Hunter left his stand, 
And stood concealed amid the 

brake, 
To view this Lady of the Lake. 
The maiden paused, as if again 
She thought to catch the distant 

strain. 
With head upraised, and look in- 
tent, 
And eye and ear attentive bent, 
And locks flung back, and lips 

apart, 339 

Like monument of Grecian art, 



In listening mood, she seemed to 

stand, 
The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

XVIII 

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 
Of finer form or lovelier face ! 
What though the sun, with ardent 

frown, 
Had slightly tinged her cheek with 

brown, 
The sportive toil, which, short and 

light, 
Had dyed her glowing hue so 

bright, 
Served too in hastier swell to 

show 350 

Short glimpses of a breast of 

snow : 
What though no rule of courtly 

grace 
To measured mood had trained 

her pace, — 
A foot more light, a step more 

true, 
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed 

the dew ; 
E'en the slight harebell raised its 

head, 
Elastic from her airy tread : 
What though upon her speech 

there hung 
The accents of the mountain 

tongue, — 
Those silver sounds, so soft, so 

dear, 360 

The listener held his breath to 

hear ! 

XIX 

A chieftain's daughter seemed the 
maid; 

Her satin snood, her silken plaid, 

Her golden brooch, such birth be- 
trayed. 

And seldom was a snood amid 

Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid. 

Whose glossy black to shame 
might bring 

The plumage of the raven's wing . 



206 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



And seldom o'er a breast so fair 
Mantled a plaid with modest care, 
And never brooch the folds com- 
bined 371 
Above a heart more good and 

kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to 

spy, 
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 
Not Katrine in her mirror blue 
Gives back the shaggy banks 

more true, 
Than every free-born glance con- 
fessed 
The guileless movements of her 

breast ; 
Whether joy danced in her dark 

eye, 
Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, 380 
Or filial love was glowing there, 
Or meek devotion poured a prayer, 
Or tale of injury called forth 
The indignant spirit of the North. 
One only passion unrevealed 
With maiden pride the maid con- 
cealed, 
Yet not less purely felt the 

flame ; — 
O, need I tell that passion's name ? 

xx 

Impatient of the silent horn, 
Now on the gale her voice was 

borne:— 390 

* Father ! ' she cried ; the rocks 

around 
Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 
Awhile she paused, no answer 

came ; — 
' Malcolm, was thine the blast ? ' 

the name 
Less resolutely uttered fell, 
The echoes could not catch the 

swell. 
4 A stranger I,' the Huntsman said, 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
Tke maid, alarmed, with hasty oar 
Pushed her light shallop from the 

shore, 400 

And when a space was gained be- 
tween, 



Closer she drew her bosom's 

screen ; — 
So forth the startled swan would 

swing, 
So turn to prune his ruffled wing. 
Then safe, though fluttered and 

amazed, 
She paused, and on the stranger 

gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye, 
That youthful maidens wont to 

fly. 

XXI 

On his bold visage middle age 
Had slightly pressed its signet 
sage, 410 

Yet had not quenched the open 

truth 
And fiery vehemence of youth ; 
Forward and frolic glee was there, 
The will to do, the soul to dare, 
The sparkling glance, soon blown 

to fire, 
Of hasty love or headlong ire. 
His limbs were cast in manly 

mould 
For hardy sports or contest bold ; 
And though in peaceful garb ar- 
rayed, 419 
And weaponless except his blade, 
His stately mien as well implied 
A high-born heart, a martial pride, 
As if a baron's crest he wore, 
And sheathed in armor trode the 

shore. 
Slighting the petty need he 

showed, 
He told of his benighted road ; 
His ready speech flowed fair and 

free, 
In phrase of gentlest courtesy, 
Yet seemed that tone and gesture 

bland 
Less used to sue than to com- 
mand. 430 

XXII 

Awhile the maid the stranger 

eyed, 
And, reassured, at length replied, 



CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE 



207 



That Highland halls were open 

still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill. 

* Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert home ; 
Before the heath had lost the dew 
This morn, a couch was pulled for 

you; 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock 

hied, 440 

And our broad nets have swept 

the mere, 
To furnish forth your evening 

cheer.' — 

• Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Your courtesy has erred,' he said ; 
4 No right have I to claim, mis- 
placed, 

The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer, here by fortune tost, 
My way, my friends, my courser 

lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair, 
Have ever drawn your mountain 

air, 450 

Till on this lake's romantic strand 

I found a fay in fairy land ! ' — 

XXIII 

4 1 well believe,' the maid replied, 
As her light skiff approached the 
side, — 

I I well believe, that ne'er before 
Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's 

shore ; 
But yet, as far as yesternight, 
Old Allan - bane foretold your 

plight,— 
A gray-haired sire, whose eye in- 
tent 459 
Was on the visioned future bent. 
He saw your steed, a dappled gray, 
Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 
Painted exact your form and mien, 
Your hunting-suit of Lincoln green, 
That tasselled horn so gayly gilt, 
That falchion's crooked blade and 

hilt, 
That cap with heron plumage 
trim. 



And yon two hounds so dark and 

grim. 
He bade that all should ready be 
To grace a guest of fair degree ; 
But light I held his prophecy, 471 
And deemed it was my father's 

horn 
Whose echoes o'er the lake were 

borne.' 

XXIV 

The stranger smiled : — ' Since to 

your home 
A destined errant-knight I come, 
Announced by prophet sooth and 

old, 
Doomed, doubtless, for achieve- 
ment bold, 
I '11 lightly front each high emprise 
For one kind glance of those bright 

eyes. 479 

Permit me first the task to guide 
Your fairy frigate o'er the tide.' 
The maid, with smile suppressed 

and sly, 
The toil unwonted saw him try, 
For seldom, sure, if e'er before, 
His noble hand had grasped an 

oar: 
Yet with main strength his strokes 

he drew, 
And o'er the lake the shallop flew ; 
With heads erect and whimpering 

cry, 
The hounds behind their passage 

ply. 

Nor frequent does the bright oar 
break 490 

The darkening mirror of the lake, 
Until the rocky isle they reach, 
And moor their shallop on the 
beach. 

XXV 

The stranger viewed the shore 
around ; 

'T was all so close with copsewood 
bound, 

Nor track nor pathway might de- 
clare 

That human foot frequented there, 



208 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Until the mountain maiden showed 
A clambering unsuspected road, 
That winded through the tangled 

screen, 5 oo 

And opened on a narrow green, 
Where weeping birch and willow 

round 
With their long fibres swept the 

ground. 
Here, for retreat in dangerous 

hour, 
Some chief had framed a rustic 

bower. 

xxvi 

It was a lodge of ample size, 
But strange of structure and de- 
vice; 
Of such materials as around 
The workman's hand had readiest 

found. 

Lopped of their boughs, their hoar 

trunks bared, 510 

And by the hatchet rudely squared. 

To give the walls their destined 

height, 
The sturdy oak and ash unite ; 
While moss and clay and leaves 

combined 
To fence each crevice from the 

wind. 
The lighter pine-trees overhead 
Their slender length for rafters 

spread, 
And withered heath and rushes 

dry 
Supplied a russet canopy. 
Due westward, fronting to the 
green, 520 

A rural portico was seen, 
Aloft on native pillars borne, 
Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, 
Where Ellen's hand had taught to 

twine 
The ivy and Idaean vine, 
The clematis, the favored flower 
Which boasts the name of virgin- 
bower, 
And every hardy plant could bear 
Loch Katrine's keen and search- 
ing air. 



An 



instant in this porch she 
stayed, 530 

And gayly to the stranger said : 
1 On heaven and on thy lady call, 
And enter the enchanted hall ! ' 

XXVII 

' My hope, my heaven, my trust 

must be, 
My gentle guide, in following 

thee!' — 
He crossed the threshold, — and a 

clang 
Of angry steel that instant rang. 
To his bold brow his spirit rushed, 
But soon for vain alarm he blushed, 
When on the floor he saw dis- 
played, 540 
Cause of the din, a naked blade 
Dropped from the sheath, that 

careless flung 
Upon a stag's huge antlers swung; 
For all around, the walls to grace, 
Hung trophies of the fight or 

chase : 
A target there, a bugle here, 
A battle-axe, a hunting-spear, 
And broadswords, bows, and ar- 
rows store, 
With the tusked trophies of the 

boar. 
Here grins the wolf as when he 

died, 550 

And there the wild-cat's brindled 

hide 
The frontlet of the elk adorns, 
Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; 
Pennons and flags defaced and 

stained, 
That blackening streaks of blood 

retained, 
And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and 

white, 
With otter's fur and seal's unite, 
In rude and uncouth tapestry all, 
To garnish forth the sylvan hall. 

XXVIII 

The wondering stranger round him 
gazed, 560 



CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE 



209 



And next the fallen weapon 

raised : — 
Few were the arms whose sinewy 

strength 
Sufficed to stretch it forth at 

length. 
And as the brand he poised and 

swayed, 
' I never knew but one,' be said, 

• Whose stalwart arm might brook 

to wield 
A blade like this in battle-field.' 
She sighed, then smiled and took 

the word : 

* You see the guardian champion's 

sword ; 569 

As light it trembles in his hand 
As in my grasp a hazel wand : 
My sire's tall form might grace the 

part 
Of Ferragus or Ascabart, 
But in the absent giant's hold 
Are women now, and menials old.' 

XXIX 

The mistress of the mansion came, 
Mature of age, a graceful dame, 
Whose easy step and stately port 
Had well become a princely court, 
To whom, though more than kin- 
dred knew, 580 
Young Ellen gave a mother's 

due. 
Meet welcome to her guest she 

made, 
And every courteous rite was paid, 
That hospitality could claim, 
Though all unasked his birth and 

name. 
Such then the reverence to a guest, 
That fellest foe might join the 

feast, 
And from his deadliest foeman's 

door 
Unquestioned turn, the banquet 

o'er. 
At length his rank the stranger 

names, 590 

1 The Knight of Snowdoun, James 

Fitz-James ; 
Lord of a barren heritage, 



Which his brave sires, from age to 

age, 
By their good swords had held with 

toil; 
His sire had fallen in such tur- 
moil, 
And he, God wot, was forced to 

stand 
Oft for his right with blade in 

hand. 
This morning with Lord Moray's 

train 
He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 
Outstripped his comrades, missed 

the deer, 600 

Lost his good steed, and wandered 

here.' 

XXX 

Fain would the Knight in turn re- 
quire 
The name and state of Ellen's 

sire. 
Well showed the elder lady's mien 
That courts and cities she had 

seen; 
Ellen, though more her looks dis- 
played 
The simple grace of sylvan maid, 
In speech and gesture, form and 

face, 
Showed she was come of gentle 

race. 
'T were strange in ruder rank to 

find 610 

Such looks, such manners, and 

such mind. 
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun 

gave, 
Dame Margaret heard with silence 

grave ; 
Or Ellen, innocently gay, 
Turned all inquiry light away : — 
1 Weird women we ! by dale and 

down 
We dwell, afar from tower and 

town. 
We stem the flood, we ride the 

blast, 
On wandering knights our spells 

we cast ; 



210 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



While viewless minstrels touch 
the string, 620 

'T is thus our charmed rhymes we 
sing.' 

She sung, and still a harp unseen 

Filled up the symphony between. 

XXXI 

SONG 

* Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 

Sleep the sleep that knows not 
breaking ; 
Dream of battled fields no more, 
Days of danger, nights of wak- 
ing. 
In our isle's enchanted hall, 
Hands unseen thy couch are 
strewing, 
Fairy strains of music fall, 630 
Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 
Dream of fighting fields no more ; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not 

breaking, 
Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 

* No rude sound shall reach thine 

ear, 
Armor's clang of war -steed 
champing, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 
Mustering clan or squadron 
tramping. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may 
come 640 

At the daybreak from the fallow, 
And the bittern sound his drum, 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near, 
Guards nor warders challenge 

here, 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and 

champing, 
Shouting clans or squadrons 
stamping.' 

XXXII 

She paused, — then, blushing, led 

the lay, 
To grace the stranger of the day. 



Her mellow notes awhile pro- 
long 650 
The cadence of the flowing song, 
Till to her lips in measured frame 
The minstrel verse spontaneous 
came. 

SONG CONTINUED 

'Huntsman, rest! thy chase is 
done ; 
While our slumbrous spells as- 
sail ye, 
Dream not, with the rising sun, 

Bugles here shall sound reveille*. 
Sleep ! the deer is in his den j 
Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee ly- 
ing; 659 
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen 
How thy gallant steed lay dy- 

ing. 
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is 

done; 
Think not of the rising sun, 
For at dawning to assail ye 
Here no bugles sound reveille.' 

XXXIII 

The hall was cleared, — the stran- 
ger's bed 
Was there of mountain heather 

spread. 
Where oft a hundred guests had 

lain, 
And dreamed their forest sports 

again. 
But vainly did the heath-flower 

shed 670 

Its moorland fragrance round his 

head; 
Not Ellen's spell had lulled to 

rest 
The fever of his troubled breast. 
In broken dreams the image rose 
Of varied perils, pains, and woes : 
His steed now flounders in the 

brake, 
Now sinks his barge upon the 

lake; 
Now leader of a broken host, 
His standard falls, his honor 's 

lost. 



CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE 



211 



Then, — from my couch may hea- 
venly might 680 

Chase that worst phantom of the 
night! — 

Again returned the scenes of j 
youth, 

Of confident, undoubting truth ; 

Again his soul he interchanged 

With friends whose hearts were ! 
long estranged. 

They come, in dim procession led, | 

The cold, the faithless, and the 
dead; 

As warm each hand, each brow 
as gay, 

As if they parted yesterday. 

And doubt distracts him at the 
view, — 690 

O were his senses false or true ? 

Dreamed he of death or broken 
vow, 

Or is it all a vision now ? 

XXXIV 

At length, with Ellen in a grove 
He seemed to walk and speak of , 

love; 
She listened with a blush and I 

sigh, 
His suit was warm, his hopes were 

high. 
He sought her yielded hand to 

clasp, 
And a cold gauntlet met his grasp : 
The phantom's sex was changed 
and gone, 700 

Upon its head a helmet shone ; 
Slowly enlarged to giant size, 
With darkened cheek and threat- 
ening eyes, 
The grisly visage, stern and hoar, 
To Ellen still a likeness bore. — - 
He woke, and, panting with af- 
fright. 
Recalled the vision of the night. 
The hearth's decaying brands 

were red, 
And deep and dusky lustre shed, 
Half showing, half concealing, 
all 710 

The uncouth trophies of the hall. 



Mid those the stranger fixed his 

eye 
Where that huge falchion hung on 

high, 
And thoughts on thoughts, a 

countless throng, 
Rushed, chasing countless 

thoughts along, 
Until, the giddy whirl to cure, 
He rose and sought the moonshine 

pure. 

XXXV 

The wild rose, eglantine, and 
broom 

Wasted around their rich per- 
fume ; 

The birch-trees wept in fragrant 
balm; 720 

The aspens slept beneath the 
calm ; 

The silver light, with quivering 
glance, 

Played on the water's still ex- 
panse, — 

Wild were the heart whose pas- 
sion's sway 

Could rage beneath the sober ray ! 

He felt its calm, that warrior 
guest, 

W T hile thus he communed with his 
breast : 

' Why is it, at each turn I trace 

Some memory of that exiled race ? 

Can I not mountain maiden 
spy, 730 

But she must bear the Douglas 
eye? 

Can I not view a Highland brand, 

But it must match the Douglas 
hand ? 

Can I not frame a fevered dream, 

But still the Douglas is the theme ? 

I'll dream no more, — by manly 
mind 

Not even in sleep is will resigned. 

My midnight orisons said o'er, 

1 '11 turn to rest, and dream no 
more.' 

His midnight orisons he told, 740 

A prayer with every bead of gold, 



2t 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Consigned to heaven his cares and 

woes, 
And sunk in undisturbed repose, 
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew, 
And morning dawned on Benvenue. 



CANTO SECOND 



THE ISLAND 



At morn the black-cock trims his 
jetty wing, 
'Tis morning prompts the lin- 
net's blithest lay, 
All Nature's children feel the 
matin spring 
Of life reviving, with reviving 
day; 
And while yon little bark glides 
down the bay, 
Wafting the stranger on his way 
again, 
Morn's genial influence roused a 
minstrel gray, 
And sweetly o'er the lake was 
heard thy strain, 
Mixed with the sounding harp, 
white-haired Allan-bane ! 



ii 



SONG 

' Not faster yonder rowers' 
might 10 

Flings from their oars the spray, 
Not faster yonder rippling bright, 
That tracks the shallop's course 
in light, 
Melts in the lake away, 
Than men from memory erase 
The benefits of former days ; 
Then, stranger, go! good speed 

the while, 
Nor think again of the lonely isle. 

* High place to thee in royal court, 
High place in battled line, 20 
Good hawk and hound for sylvan 
sport ! 



Where beauty sees the brave re- 
sort, 
The honored meed be thine ! 

True be thy sword, thy friend sin- 
cere, 

Thy lady constant, kind, and dear, 

And lost in love's and friendship's 
smile 

Be memory of the lonely isle ! 



in 



SONG CONTINUED 

' But if beneath yon southern sky 

A plaided stranger roam, 
Whose drooping crest and stifled 
sigh, 30 

And sunken cheek and heavy eye, 

Pine for his Highland home ; 
Then, warrior, then be thine to 

show 
The care that soothes a wanderer's 

woe; 
Remember then thy hap ere while, 
A stranger in the lonely isle. 

' Or if on life's uncertain main 
Mishap shall mar thy sail ; 

If faithful, wise, and brave in vain, 

Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 
Beneath the fickle gale ; 41 

Waste not a sigh on fortune 
changed, 

On thankless courts, or friends es- 
tranged, 

But come where kindred worth 
shall smile, 

To greet thee in the lonely isle.' 

IV 

As died the sounds upon the tide, 
The shallop reached the mainland 

side, 
And ere his onward way he took, 
The stranger cast a lingering look, 
Where easily his eye might reach 
The Harper on the islet beach, 51 
Reclined against a blighted tree, 
As wasted, gray, and worn as he. 
To minstrel meditation given, 



CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND 



2I 3 



His reverend brow was raised to 

heaven, 
As from the rising sun to claim 
A sparkle of inspiring flame. 
His hand, reclined upon the wire, 
Seemed watching the awakening 

fire; 
So still he sat as those who wait 
Till judgment speak the doom of 

fate 6 1 

So still, as if no breeze might dare 
To lift one lock of hoary hair ; 
So still, as life itself were fled 
In the last sound his harp had 

sped. 



Upon a rock with lichens wild, 
Beside him Ellen sat and smiled. — 
Smiled she to see the stately drake 
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, 
While her vexed spaniel from the 

beach 70 

Bayed at the prize beyond his 

reach? 
Yet tell me, then, the maid who 

knows, 
Why deepened on her cheek the 

rose ? — 
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity ! 
Perchance the maiden smiled to 

see 
Yon parting lingerer wave adieu, 
And stop and turn to wave anew ; 
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 
Condemn the heroine of my lyre, 
Show me the fair would scorn to 

spy 80 

And prize such conquest of her 

eye! 

VI 

While yet he loitered on the spot, 
It seemed as Ellen marked him 

not; 
But when he turned him to the 

glade, 
One courteous parting sign she 

made; 
And after, oft the knight would 

say, 



That not when prize of festal day 
Was dealt him by the brightest 

fair 
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 
So highly did his bosom swell 90 
As at that simple mute farewell. 
Now with a trusty mountain-guide, 
And his dark stag-hounds by his 

side, 
He parts, — the maid, unconscious 

still, 
Watched him wind slowly round 

the hill; 
But when his stately form was hid, 
The guardian in her bosom chid,— 
' Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish 

maid ! > 
'T was thus upbraiding conscience 

said, — 
' Not so had Malcolm idly hung 100 
On the smooth phrase of Southern 

tongue ; 
Not so had Malcolm strained his 

eye 
Another step than thine to spy.' — 
1 Wake, Allan - bane,' aloud she 

cried 
To the old minstrel by her side, — 
'Arouse thee from thy moody 

dream ! 
I '11 give thy harp heroic theme, 
And warm thee with a noble 

name; 
Pour forth the glory of the 

Graeme ! ■ 
Scarce from her lip the word had 
rushed, no 

When deep the conscious maiden 

blushed ; 
For of his clan, in hall and bower, 
Young Malcolm Graeme was held 
the flower. 

YII 

The minstrel waked his harp, — 

three times 
Arose the well - known martial 

chimes, 
And thrice their high heroic pride 
In melancholy murmurs died. 
1 Vainly thou bidst, noble maid,' 



2«4 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Clasping his withered hands, he 

said, 
' Vainly thou bidst me wake the 

strain, 120 

Though all unwont to hid in vain. 
Alas ! than mine a mightier hand 
Has tuned my harp, my strings 

has spanned ! 
I touch the chords of joy, but low 
And mournful answer notes of 

woe; 
And the proud march which vic- 
tors tread 
Sinks in the wailing for the dead. 
O, well for me, if mine alone 
That dirge's deep prophetic tone ! 
If, as my tuneful fathers said, 130 
This harp, which erst Saint Modan 

swayed, 
Can thus its master's fate foretell, 
Then welcome be the minstrel's 

knell ! 

VIII 

' But ah ! dear lady, thus it sighed, 
The eve thy sainted mother died ; 
And such the sounds which, while 

I strove 
To wake a lay of war or love, 
Came marring all the festal mirth, 
Appalling me who gave them birth. 
And, disobedient to my call, 140 
Wailed loud through BothwelPs 

bannered hall, 
Ere Douglases, to ruin driven, 
Were exiled from their native 

heaven.— 
O ! if yet; worse mishap and woe 
My master's house must undergo, 
Or aught but weal to Ellen fair 
Brood in these accents of despair, 
No future bard, sad Harp ! shall 

fling 
Triumph or rapture from thy 

string ; 
One short, one final strain shall 

flow, 150 

Fraught with unutterable woe, 
Then shivered shall thy fragments 

lie, 
Thy master cast him down and 

die!' 



IX 

Soothing she answered him : * As- 
suage, 
Mine honored friend, the fears of 

age; 
All melodies to thee are known 
That harp has rung or pipe has 

blown, 
In Low 7 land vale or Highland glen, 
From Tweed to Spey — what mar- 
vel, then, 
At times unbidden notes should 

rise, 160 

Confusedly bound in memory's 

ties, 
Entangling, as they rush along, 
The war-march with the funeral 

song?—- 
Small ground is now for boding 

fear; 
Obscure, but safe, we rest us 

here. 
My sire, in native virtue great, 
Resigning lordship, lands, and 

state, 
Not then to fortune more resigned 
Than yonder oak might give the 

wind ; 
The graceful foliage storms may 

reave, 170 

The noble stem they cannot grieve. 
For me ' — she stooped, and, look- 
ing round, 
Plucked a blue harebell from the 

ground,— 
' For me, whose memory scarce 

conveys 
An image of more splendid days, 
This little flower that loves the 

lea 
May well my simple emblem be ; 
It drinks heaven's dew as blithe 

as rose 
That in the King's own garden 

grows ; 
And when I place it in my hair, 180 
Allan, a bard is bound to swear 
He ne'er saw coronet so fair*' 
Then playfully the chaplet wild 
She wreathed in her dark locks, 

and smiled. 



CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND 



215 



Her smile, her speech, with win- 
ning sway, 
Wiled the old Harper's mood away. 
With such a look as hermits throw, 
When angels stoop to soothe their \ 

woe, 
He gazed, till fond regret and 

pride 
Thrilled to a tear, then thus re- 
plied : 190 
4 Loveliest and best ! thou little 

know'st 
The rank, the honors, thou hast 

lost! 
O, might I live to see thee grace, 
In Scotland's court, thy birthright 

place, 
To see my favorite's step advance 
The lightest in the courtly dance, 
The cause of every gallant's sigh, 
And leading star of every eye, 
And theme of every minstrel's 

art, 
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart ! ' 

XI 

' Fair dreams are these,' the maiden 

cried, — 201 

Light was her accent, yet she 

sighed, — 
1 Yet is this mossy rock to me 
Worth splendid chair and canopy ; 
Nor would my footstep spring 

more gay 
In courtly dance than blithe strath- 

spey, 
Nor half so pleased mine ear in- 
cline 
To royal minstrel's lay as thine. 
And then for suitors proud and 

high, 
To bend before my conquering 

eye,—- 210 

Thou, flattering bard ! thyself wilt 

say, 
That grim Sir Roderick owns its 

sway. 
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's 

pride, 
The terror of Loch Lomond's side, 



Would, at my suit, thou know'st, 

delay 
A Lennox foray — for a day.' — 

XII 

The ancient bard her glee re- 
pressed : 
'111 hast thou chosen theme for 

jest! 
For who, through all this western 

wild, 
Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, 

and smiled? 220 

In Holy-Rood a knight he slew ; 
I saw, when back the dirk he 

drew, 
Courtiers give place before the 

stride 
Of the undaunted homicide ; 
And since, though outlawed, hath 

his hand 
Full sternly kept his mountain land. 
Who else dared give — ah! woe 

the day, 
That I such hated truth should 

say! — 
The Douglas, like a stricken deer. 
Disowned by every noble peer, 230 
Even the rude refuge we have 

here? 
Alas, this wild marauding Chief 
Alone might hazard our relief, 
And now thy maiden charms ex- 
pand, 
Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ; 
Full soon may dispensation 

sought, 
To back his suit, from Rome be 

brought. 
Then, though an exile on the hill, 
Thy father, as the Douglas, still 
Be held in reverence and fear; 240 
And though to Roderick thou'rt 

so dear 
That thou mightst guide with 

silken thread, 
Slave of thy will, this chieftaiu 

dread, 
Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth re- 

frain ! 
Thv hand is on a lion's mane.' — 



2l6 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



XIII 

* Minstrel,' the maid replied, and 

high 
Her father's soul glanced from her 

eye, 
'My debts to Roderick's house I 

know : 248 

All that a mother could bestow 
To Lady Margaret's care I owe, 
Since first an orphan in the wild 
She sorrowed o'er her sister's 

child ; 
To her brave chieftain son, from ire 
Of Scotland's king who shrouds 

my sire, 
A deeper, holier debt is owed ; 
And, could I pay it with my blood, 
Allan! Sir Roderick should com- 
mand 
My blood, my life, — but not my 

hand. 
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell 
A votaress in Maronnan's cell ; 260 
Rather through realms beyond the 

sea, 
Seeking the world's cold charity, 
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish 

word, 
And ne'er the name of Douglas 

heard, 
An outcast pilgrim will she rove, 
Than wed the man she cannot love. 

XIV 

'Thou shak'st, good friend, thy 

tresses gray, 
That pleading look, what can it 

say 
But what I own?— I grant him 

brave, 
But wild as Bracklinn's thundering 

wave ; 270 

And generous, — save vindictive 

mood 
Or jealous transport chafe his 

blood : 
I grant him true to friendly band, 
As his claymore is to his hand ; 
But O ! that very blade of steel 
More mercy for a foe would feel : 
I grant him liberal, .to fling 



Among his clan the wealth they 

bring, 
When back by lake and glen they 



wind, 



279 



And in the Lowland leave behind, 
Where once some pleasant hamlet 

stood, 
A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 
The hand that for my father 

fought 
I honor, as his daughter ought ; 
But can I clasp it reeking red 
From peasants slaughtered in their 

shed? 
No ! wildly while his virtues gleam, 
They make his passions darker 

seem, 
And flash along his spirit high, 
Like lightning o'er the midnight 

sky. 290 

While yet a child, — and children 

know, 
Instinctive taught, the friend and 

foe,— • 
I shuddered at his brow of gloom, 
His shadowy plaid and sable 

plume ; 
A maiden grown, I ill could bear 
His haughty mien and lordly air : 
But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, 
In serious mood, to Roderick's 

name, 
I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er 
A Douglas knew the word, with 

fear. 300 

To change such odious theme were 

best,— 
What think'st thou of our stranger 

guest?' — 

xv 

1 What think I of him? — woe the 

while 
That brought such wanderer to 

our isle ! 
Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 
For Tine-man forged by fairy lore, 
What time he leagued, no longer 

foes, 
His Border spears with Hotspur's 

bows, 



CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND 



217 



Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 
Tbe footstep of a secret foe. 3 10 
If courtly spy hath harbored here, 
What may we for the Douglas 

fear? 
What for this island, deemed of 

old 
Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold ? 
If neither spy nor foe, I pray 
What yet may jealous Roderick 

say?— 
Nay, wave not thy disdainful 

head! 
Bethink thee of the discord dread 
That kindled when at Beltane 

game 
Thou led' st the dance with Mal- 
colm Graeme; 320 
Still, though thy sire the peace re- 
newed, 
Smoulders in Roderick's breast 

the feud : 
Beware ! — But hark ! what sounds 

are these ? 
My dull ears catch no faltering 

breeze, 
No weeping birch nor aspens wake, 
Nor breath is dimpling in the lake ; 
Still is the canna's hoary beard, 
Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard — 
And hark again ! some pipe of war 
Sends the bold pibroch from afar.' 

XVI 

Far up the lengthened lake were 

spied 331 

Four darkening specks upon the 

tide, 
That, slow enlarging on the view, 
Four manned and masted barges 

grew, 
And, bearing downwards from 

Glengyle, 
Steered full upon the lonely isle ; 
The point of Brianchoil they 

passed, 
And, to the windward as they cast, 
Against the sun they gave to shine 
The bold Sir Roderick's bannered 

Pine. 340 

Nearer and nearer as they bear, 



Spears, pikes, and axes flash in 

air. 
Now might you see the tartans 

brave, 
And plaids and plumage dance and 

wave: 
Now see the bonnets sink and 

rise, 
As his tough oar the rower plies; 
See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, 
The wave ascending into smoke ; 
See the proud pipers on the bow, 
And mark the gaudy streamers 

flOW 350 

From their loud chanters down, 

and sweep 
The furrowed bosom of the deep, 
As, rushing through the lake 

amain. 
They plied the ancient Highland 

strain. 

XVII 

Ever, as on they bore, more loud 
And louder rung the pibroch proud. 
At first the sounds, by distance 

tame, 
Mellowed along the waters came, 
And, lingering long by cape and 

bay, 359 

Wailed every harsher note away, 
Then bursting bolder on the ear, 
The clan's shrill Gathering they 

could hear, 
Those thrilling sounds that call 

the might 
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight. 
Thick beat the rapid notes, as 

when 
The mustering hundreds shake the 

glen, 
And hurrying at the signal dread, 
The battered earth returns their 

tread. 
Then prelude light, of livelier tone, 
Expressed their merry marching 

on, 370 

Ere peal of closing battle rose, 
With mingled outcry, shrieks, and 

blows ; 
And mimic din of stroke and ward, 



2l8 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



As broadsword upon target jarred ; 
And groaning pause, ere yet again, 
Condensed, the battle yelled 

amain : 
The rapid charge, the rallying 

shout, 
Retreat borne headlong into rout, 
And bursts of triumph, to declare 
Clan-Alpine's conquest — all were 
there. 380 

Nor ended thus the strain, but 

slow 
Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, 
And changed the conquering clar- 
ion swell 
For wild lament o'er those that 
fell. 

XVIII 

The war-pipes ceased, but lake and 

hill 
Were busy with their echoes still ; 
And, when they slept, a vocal 

strain 
Bade their hoarse chorus wake 

again, 
While loud a hundred clansmen 

raise 
Their voices in their Chieftain's 

praise. 390 

Each boatman, bending to his oar, 
With measured sweep the burden 

bore, 
In such wild cadence as the breeze 
Makes through December's leaf- 
less trees. 
The chorus first could Allan know, 
* Roderick Vich Alpine, ho ! iroe ! ' 
And near, and nearer as they 

rowed, 
Distinct the martial ditty flowed. 

XIX 

BOAT SONG 

Hail to the Chief who in triumph 

advances ! 
Honored and blessed be the 

ever-green Pine ! 400 

Long may the tree, in his banner 

that glances, 



Flourish, the shelter and grace 
of our line ! 
Heaven send it happy dew, 
Earth lend it sap anew, 
Gayly to bourgeon and broadly 
to grow, 
While every Highland glen 
Sends our shout back again, 
' Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! 
ieroe ! » 

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown 
by the fountain, 
Blooming at Beltane, in winter 
to fade; 410 

When the whirlwind has stripped 
every leaf on the mountain, 
The more shall Clan-Alpine ex- 
ult In her shade. 
Moored in the rifted rock, 
Proof to the tempest's shock, 
Firmer he roots him the ruder it 
blow; 
Menteith and Breadalbane, 

then, 
Echo his praise again, 
1 Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! 



ieroe ! ' 



xx 



Proudly our pibroch has thrilled 
in Glen Fruin, 
And Bannochar's groans to our 
slogan replied ; 420 

Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are 
smoking in ruin, 
And the best of Loch Lomond 
lie dead on her side. 
Widow and Saxon maid 
Long shall lament our raid, 
Think of Clan-Alpine with fear 
and with woe; 
Lennox and Leven-glen 
Shake when they hear again, 
' Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! 
ieroe ! ' 

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of 
the Highlands ! 
Stretch to your oars for the ever- 
green Pine ! 430 



CANTO SECOND : THE ISLAND 



219 



that the rosebud that graces 

yon islands 
Were wreathed in a garland 
around him to twine ! 
O that some seedling gem, 
Worthy such noble stem, 
Honored and blessed in their 
shadow might grow ! 
Loud should Clan-Alpine then 
Ring from her deepmost glen, 
* Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! 
ieroe ! ' 

XXI 

With all her joyful female band 

Had Lady Margaret sought the 
strand. 440 

Loose on the breeze their tresses 
flew, 

And high their snowy arms they 
threw, 

As echoing back with shrill ac- 
claim, 

And chorus wild, the Chieftain's 
name; 

While, prompt to please, with mo- 
ther's art, 

The darling passion of his heart, 

The Dame called Ellen to the 
strand, 

To greet her kinsman ere he land : 

'' Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas 
thou, 

And shun to wreathe a victor's 
brow?' 450 

Reluctantly and slow, the maid 

The unwelcome summoning 
obeyed, 

And when a distant bugle rung, 

In the mid - path aside she 
sprung : — 

'List, Allan-bane ! From main- 
land cast 

1 hear my father's signal blast. 
Be ours,' she cried, 'the skiff to 

guide, 

And waft him from the mountain- 
side.' 

Then, like a sunbeam, swift and 
bright, 

She darted to her shallop light 460 



And, eagerly while Roderick 

scanned, 
For her dear form, his mother's 

band, 
The islet far behind her lay, 
And she had landed in the bay. 

XXII 

Some feelings are to mortals given 
With less of earth in them than 

heaven : 
And if there be a human tear 
From passion's dross refined and 

clear, 
A tear so limpid and so meek 
It would not stain an angel's 

cheek, 470 

'T is that which pious fathers 

shed 
Upon a duteous daughter's head ! 
And as the Douglas to his breast 
His darling Ellen closely pressed, 
Such holy drops her tresses 

steeped, 
Though 't was an hero's eye that 

weeped. 
Nor while on Ellen's faltering 

tongue 
Her filial welcomes crowded hung, 
Marked she that fear — affection's 

proof — 479 

Still held a graceful youth aloof ; 
No! not till Douglas named his 

name, 
Although the youth was Malcolm 

Graeme. 

XXIII 

Allan, with wistful look the while 
Marked Roderick landing on the 

isle; 
His master piteously he eyed, 
Then gazed upon the Chieftain's 

pride, 
Then dashed with hasty hand 

away 
From his dimmed eye the gather- 
ing spray ; 
And Douglas, as his hand he laid 
On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly 
said : 4Q0 



220 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



1 Canst thou, young friend, no 

meaning spy 
In my poor follower's glistening 

eye? 
I '11 tell thee : — he recalls the day 
When in my praise he led the lay 
O'er the arched gate of Bothwell 

proud, 
While many a minstrel answered 

loud, 
When Percy's Norman pennon, 

won 
In bloody field, before me shone, 
And twice ten knights, the least a 

name 499 

As mighty as yon Chief may claim. 
Gracing my pomp, behind me earned 
Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so 

proud 
Was I of all that marshalled 

crowd, 
Though the waned crescent owned 

my might, 
And in my train trooped lord and 

knight, 
Though Blantyre hymned her holi- 
est lays, 
And Bothwell's bards flung back 

my praise, 
As when this old man's silent tear, 
And this poor maid's affection 

dear, 
A welcome give more kind and 

true 510 

Than aught my better fortunes 

knew. 
Forgive, my friend, a father's 

boast, — 
O, it out-beggars all I lost! ■ 

XXIV 

Delightful praise ! — like summer 
rose, 

That brighter in the dew-drop 
glows, 

The bashful maiden's cheek ap- 
peared, 

For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm 
heard. 

The flush of shame-faced joy to 
hide, 



The hounds, the hawk, her cares 

divide ; 
The loved caresses of the maid 
The dogs with crouch and whim- 
per paid; 521 
And, at her whistle, on her hand 
The falcon took his favorite stand, 
Closed his dark wing, relaxed his 

eye, 
Nor, though unhooded, sought to 

fly. 

And, trust, while in such guise she 

stood, 
Like fabled Goddess of the wood, 
That if a father's partial thought 
O'er weighed her worth and beauty 

aught, 
Well might the lover's judgment 

fail 530 

To balance with a juster scale ; 
For with each secret glance he 

stole, 
The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 

XXV 

Of stature fair, and slender frame, 

But firmly knit, was Malcolm 
Graeme. 

The belted plaid and tartan hose 

Did ne'er more graceful limbs dis- 
close ; 

His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, 

Curled closely round his bonnet 
blue. 

Trained to the chase, his eagle 
eye 540 

The ptarmigan in snow could spy ; 

Each pass, by mountain, lake, and 
heath, 

He knew, through Lennox and 
Menteith ; 

Yain w r as the bound of dark-brown 
doe 

When Malcolm bent his sounding 
bow, 

And scarce that doe, though winged 
with fear, 

Outstripped in speed the moun- 
taineer : 

Right up Ben Lomond could he 
press, 548 



CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND 



221 



And not a sob his toil confess. 
His form accorded with a mind 
Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; 
A blither heart, till Ellen came, 
Did never love nor sorrow tame ; 
It danced as lightsome in his 

breast 
As played the feather on his crest. 
Yet friends, who nearest knew the 

youth, 
His scorn of wrong, his zeal for 

truth, 
And bards, who saw his features 

bold 
When kindled by the tales of 

old, 
Said, were that youth to manhood 

grown, 560 

Not long should Roderick Dhu's 

renown 
Be foremost voiced by mountain 

fame, 
But quail to that of Malcolm 

Graeme. 

XXVI 

Now back they wend their watery 

way, 
And, ■ O my sire ! ' did Ellen say, 
1 Why urge thy chase so far astray ? 
And why so late returned ? And 

why ' — 
The rest was in her speaking eye. 
' My child, the chase I follow far, 
'T is mimicry of noble war ; 570 
And with that gallant pastime reft 
Were all of Douglas I have left. 
I met young Malcolm as I strayed 
Far eastward, in G-lenfinlas' shade ; 
Nor strayed I safe, for all around 
Hunters and horsemen scoured the 

ground. 
This youth, though still a royal 

ward, 
Risked life and land to be my 

guard, 
And through the passes of the 

wood 
Guided my steps, not unpursued ; 
And Roderick shall his welcome 

make, 581 



Despite old spleen, for Douglas' 

sake. 
Then must he seek Strath-Endrick 

glen, 
Nor peril aught for me again.' 

XXVII 

Sir Roderick, who to meet them 

came, 
Reddened at sight of Malcolm 

Graeme, 
Yet, not in action, word, or eye, 
Failed aught in hospitality. 
In talk and sport they whiled 

away 589 

The morning of that summer day ; 
But at high noon a courier light 
Held secret parley with the knight, 
Whose moody aspect soon de- 
clared 
That evil were the news he heard. 
Deep thought seemed toiling in his 

head; 
l"et was the evening banquet made 
Ere he assembled round the flame 
His mother, Douglas, and the 

Graeme, 
And Ellen too ; then cast around 
His eyes, then fixed them on the 

ground, 600 

As studying phrase that might 

avail 
Best to convey unpleasant tale. 
Long with his dagger's hilt he 

played, 
Then raised his haughty brow, 

and said : — 

XXVIII 

'Short be my speech;— -nor time 

affords, 
Nor my plain temper, glozing 

words. 
Kinsman and father, — if such 

name 
Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's 

claim ; 
Mine honored mother ; — Ellen, — 

why, 
My cousin, turn away thine 

eye?— 610 



22\ 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



And Graeme, in whom I hope to 
know 

Full soon a noble friend or foe, 

When age shall give thee thy com- 
mand, 

And leading in thy native land, — 

List all ! — The King's vindictive 
pride 

Boasts to have tamed the Border- 
side, 

Where chiefs, with hound and 
hawk who came 

To share their monarch's sylvan 
game, 

Themselves in bloody toils were 
snared, 

And when the banquet they pre- 
pared, 620 

And wide their loyal portals flung 

O'er their own gateway struggling 
hung. 

Loud cries their blood from Meg- 
gat's mead, 

From Yarrow braes and banks of 
Tweed, 

Where the lone streams of Ettrick 
glide, 

And from the silver Teviot's side ; 

The dales, where martial clans 
did ride, 

Are now one sheep-walk, waste 
and wide. 

This tyrant of the Scottish throne. 

So faithless and so ruthless 
known, 630 

Now hither comes ; his end the 
same, 

The same pretext of sylvan game. 

What grace for Highland Chiefs, 
judge ye 

By fate of Border chivalry. 

Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas' green, 

Douglas, thy stately form was 
seen. 

This by espial sure I know : 

Your counsel in the streight I 
show.' 

XXIX 

Ellen and Margaret fearfully 
Sought comfort in each other's 
eye, 640 



Then turned their ghastly look, 

each one, 
This to her sire, that to her son. 
The hasty color went and came 
In the bold cheek of Malcolm 

Graeme, 
But from his glance it well ap- 
peared 
'T was but for Ellen that he 

feared ; 
While, sorrowful, but undismayed 
The Douglas thus his counsel said : 
1 Brave Roderick, though the tem- 
pest roar, 
It may but thunder and pass 
o'er ; 650 

Nor will I here remain an hour, 
To draw the lightning on thy 

bower ; 
For well thou know'st, at this gray 

head 
The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 
For thee, who, at thy King's com- 
mand, 
Canst aid him with a gallant band, 
Submission, homage, humbled 

pride, 
Shall turn the Monarch's wrath 

aside. 
Poor remnants of the Bleeding 

Heart, 
Ellen and I will seek apart 660 
The refuge of some forest cell, 
There, like the hunted quarry, 

dwell, 
Till on the mountain and the moor 
The stern pursuit be passed and 



o'er.' 



XXX 



' No, by mine honor,' Roderick 

said, 
1 So help me Heaven, and my good 

blade ! 
No, never ! Blasted be yon Pine, 
My father's ancient crest and mine, 
If from its shade in danger part 
The lineage of the Bleeding 

Heart ! 670 

Hear my blunt speech: grant me 

this maid 
To wife, thy counsel to mine aid; 



CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND 



223 



To Douglas, leagued with Roder- 
ick Dim, 
Will friends and allies flock enow ; 
Like cause of doubt, distrust, and 

grief, 
Will bind to us each Western 

Chief. 
When the loud pipes my bridal 

tell, 
The Links of Forth shall hear the 

knell, 
The guards shall start in Stirling's 

porch ; 
And when I light the nuptial 

torch, 680 

A thousand villages in flames 
Shall scare the slumbers of King 

James ! — 
Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away, 
And, mother, cease these signs, I 

pray; 
I meant not all my heat might 

say.— 
Small need of inroad or of fight, 
When the sage Douglas may 

unite 
Each mountain clan in friendly 

band, 
To guard the passes of their land, 
Till the foiled King from pathless 

glen 690 

Shall bootless turn him home 

again.' 

XXXI 

There are who have, at midnight 

hour, 
In slumber scaled a dizzy tower, 
And, on the verge that beetled 

o'er 
The ocean tide's incessant roar, 
Dreamed calmly out their danger. 

ous dream, 
Till wakened by the morning 

beam; 
When, dazzled by the eastern 

glow, 
Such startler cast his glance be- 
low, 
And saw unmeasured depth 

around, 7 oo 



And heard unintermitted sound, 
And thought the battled fence so 

frail, 
It waved like cobweb in the gale ; — 
Amid his senses' giddy wheel, 
Did he not desperate impulse feel 
Headlong to plunge himself be- 
low, 
And meet the worst his fears fore- 
show ? — 
Thus Ellen, dizzy and astound, 
As sudden ruin yawned around, 
By crossing terrors wildly tossed, 
Still for the Douglas fearing most, 
Could scarce the desperate thought 
withstand, 712 

To buy his safety with her hand. 

XXXII 

Such purpose dread could Mal- 
colm spy 
In Ellen's quivering lip and eye, 
And eager rose to speak, — but ere 
His tongue could hurry forth his 

fear, 
Had Douglas marked the hectic 

strife, 
Where death seemed combating 

with life ; 
For to her cheek, in feverish flood, 
One instant rushed the throbbing 

blood, 721 

Then ebbing back, with sudden 

sway, 
Left its domain as wan as clay. 
4 Roderick, enough ! enough ! » he 

cried, 
' My daughter cannot be thy bride ; 
Not that the blush to wooer dear, 
Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 
It may not be, — forgive her, Chief, 
Nor hazard aught for our relief. 
Against his sovereign, Douglas 

ne'er 730 

Will level a rebellious spear. 
'T was I that taught his youthful 

hand 
To rein a steed and wield a brand ; 
I see him yet, the princely boy ! 
Not Ellen more my pride and 

joy; 



:24 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



I love him still, despite my wrongs 
By hasty wrath and slanderous 

tongues. 
O, seek the grace you well may 

find, 
Without a cause to mine com- 

bined ! ' 

XXXIII 

Twice through the hall the Chief- 
tain strode ; 740 
The waving of his tartans broad, 
And darkened brow, where 

wounded pride 
With ire and disappointment vied, 
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy 

light, 
Like the ill Demon of the night, 
Stooping his pinions' shadowy 

sway 
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way : 
But, unrequited Love ! thy dart 
Plunged deepest its envenomed 

smart, 
And Roderick, with thine anguish 

stung, 750 

At length the hand of Douglas 

wrung, 
While eyes that mocked at tears 

before 
With bitter drops were running 

o'er. 
The death-pangs of long-cherished 

hope 
Scarce in that ample breast had 

scope, 
But, struggling with his spirit 

proud, 
Convulsive heaved its checkered 

shroud, 
While every sob — so mute were 

all — 
Was heard distinctly through the 

hall. 
The son's despair, the mother's 

look, 760 

111 might the gentle Ellen brook ; 
She rose, and to her side there 

came, 
To aid her parting steps, the 

Graeme. 



xxxiv 

Then Eoderick from the Douglas 
broke — 

As flashes flame through sable 
smoke, 

Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, 
and low, 

To one broad blaze of ruddy glow, 

So the deep anguish of despair 

Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 

With stalwart grasp his hand he 
laid 770 

On Malcolm's breast and belted 
plaid : 

4 Back, beardless boy ! ' he sternly 
said, 

'Back, minion! holdst thou thus 
at naught 

The lesson I so lately taught? 

This roof, the Douglas, and that 
maid, 

Thank thou for punishment de- 
layed.' 

Eager as greyhound on his game, 

Fiercely with Roderick grappled 
Graeme. 

' Perish my name, if aught afford 

Its Chieftain safety save his 
sword ! ' 780 

Thus as they strove their despe- 
rate hand 

Griped to the dagger or the brand, 

And death had been— but Doug- 
las rose, 

And thrust between the struggling 
foes 

His giant strength : — 4 Chieftains, 
forego ! 

I hold the first who strikes my 
foe.— 

Madmen, forbear your frantic jar ! 

What ! is the Douglas fallen so far, 

His daughter's hand is deemed the 
spoil 

Of such dishonorable broil ? ' 790 

Sullen and slowly they unclasp, 

As struck with shame, their de- 
sperate grasp, 

And each upon his rival glared, 

With foot advanced and blade half 
bared. 



CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND 



225 



XXXV 

Ere yet the brands aloft were 

flung, 
Margaret on Roderick's mantle 

hung, 
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's 

scream, 
As faltered through terrific dream. 
Then Roderick plunged in sheath 

his sword, 
And veiled his wrath in scornful 

word : 800 

4 Rest safe till morning; pity 't 

were 
Such cheek should feel the mid- 
night air ! 
Then mayst thou to James Stuart 

tell, 
Roderick will keep the lake and 

fell, 
Nor lackey with his freeborn clan 
The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
More would he of Clan-Alpine 

know, 
Thou canst our strength and 

passes show. — 
Malise, what ho !' — his henchman 

came : 
'Give our safe-conduct to the 

Graeme/ 810 

Young Malcolm answered, calm 

and bold : 
* Fear nothing for thy favorite 

hold; 
The spot an angel deigned to 

grace 
Is blessed, though robbers haunt 

the place. 
Thy churlish courtesy for those 
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 
As safe to me the mountain way 
At midnight as in blaze of day, 
Though with his boldest at his 

back 
Even Roderick Dhu beset the 

track. — 820 

Brave Douglas,— lovely Ellen,— 

nay, 
Naught here of parting will I say. 
Earth does not hold a lonesome 

glen 



So secret but we meet again. — 
Chieftain ! we too shall find an 

hour,' — 
He said, and left the sylvan bower. 

XXXVI 

Old Allan followed to the strand — 

Such was the Douglas's com- 
mand— 

And anxious told, how, on the 
morn, 

The stern Sir Roderick deep had 
sworn, 830 

The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 

Dale, glen, and valley, down and 
moor. 

Much were the peril to the Graeme 

From those who to the signal 
came; 

Far up the lake 't were safest land, 

Himself would row him to the 
strand. 

He gave his counsel to the wind, 

While Malcolm did, unheeding, 
bind, 

Round dirk and pouch and broad- 
sword rolled, 

His ample plaid in tightened 
•fold, 840 

And stripped his limbs to such ar- 
ray 

As best might suit the watery 
way, — 

XXXVII 

Then spoke abrupt : ' Farewell to 

thee, 
Pattern of old fidelity ! ' 
The Minstrel's hand he kindly 

pressed,— 
' O, could I point a place of rest! 
My sovereign holds in ward my 

land, 
My uncle leads my vassal band ; 
To tame his foes, his friends to 

aid, 
Poor Malcolm has but heart and 

blade. 850 

Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme 
Who loves the chieftain of his 

name, 



226 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Not long shall honored Douglas 

dwell 
Like hunted stag in mountain 

cell; 
Nor, ere yon pride-swollen robber 

dare, — 
I may not give the rest to air ! 
Tell Roderick Dhu I owed him 

naught, 
Not the poor service of a boat, 
To waft me to yon mountain-side.' 
Then plunged he in the flashing 

tide. 860 

Bold o'er the flood his head he 

bore, 
And stoutly steered him from the 

shore ; 
And Allan strained his anxious 

eye, 
Far mid the lake his form to spy, 
Darkening across each puny 

wave, 
To which the moon her silver 

gave. 
Fast as the cormorant could skim, 
The swimmer plied each active 

limb; 
Then landing in the moonlight 

dell, 
Loud shouted of his weal to 

tell. 870 

The Minstrel heard the far halloo, 
And joyful from the shore with- 

drew. 



CANTO THIRD 



THE GATHERING 



Time rolls his ceaseless course. 

The race of yore, 
Who danced our infancy upon 

their knee, 
And told our marvelling boyhood 

legends store 
Of their strange ventures happed 

by land or sea, 
How are they blotted from the 

things that be ! 



How few, all weak and withered 
of their force, 
Wait on the verge of dark eter- 
nity, 
Like stranded wrecks, the tide 
returning hoarse, 
To sweep them from our sight; 
Time rolls his ceaseless 
course. 

Yet live there still w r ho can re- 
member well, 10 
How, when a mountain chief his 
bugle blew, 
Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, 
and dell, 
And solitary heath, the signal 
knew ; 
And fast the faithful clan around 
him drew, 
What time the warning note was 
keenly wound, 
What time aloft their kindred ban- 
ner flew, 
While clamorous w T ar-pipes 
yelled the gathering sound, 
And while the Fiery Cross glanced, 
like a meteor, round. 

11 
The Summer dawn's reflected 

v hue 
To purple changed Loch Katrine 

blue ; 20 

Mildly and soft the western breeze 
Just kissed the 'lake, just stirred 

the trees, 
And the pleased lake, like maiden 

coy, 
Trembled but dimpled not for joy : 
The mountain -shadows on her 

breast 
Were neither broken nor at rest ; 
In bright uncertainty they lie, 
Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 
The water-lily to the light 
Her chalice reared of silver 

bright; 30 

The doe awoke, and to the lawn, 
Begemmed with dew-drops, led 

her fawn ; 



CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING 



227 



The gray mist left the mountain- 
side, 

The torrent showed its glistening 
pride ; 

Invisible in flecked sky 

The lark sent down her revelry ; 

The blackbird and the speckled 
thrush 

Good-morrow gave from brake and 
bush ; 

In answer cooed the cushat dove 

Her notes of peace and rest and 
love. 40 

in 

No thought of peace, no thought 

of rest, 
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's 

breast. 
With sheathed broadsword in his 

hand, 
Abrupt he paced the islet strand, 
And eyed the rising sun, and laid 
His hand on his impatient blade. 
Beneath a rock, his vassal's care 
Was prompt the ritual to prepare, 
With deep and deathful meaning 

fraught : 
For such Antiquity had taught 50 
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 
The Cross of F ire should take its 

road. 
The shrinking band stood oft 

aghast 
At the impatient glance he cast ; — 
Such glance the mountain eagle 

threw, 
As, from the cliffs of Benvenue, 
She spread her dark sails on the I 

wind, 
And, high in middle heaven re- j 

clined, 
With her broad shadow on the 

lake, 
Silenced the warblers of the 

brake. 60 

IV 

A heap of withered boughs was 

piled, 
Of juniper and rowan wild, 



Mingled with shivers from the 

oak, 
Rent by the lightning's recent 

stroke. 
Brian the Hermit by it stood, 
Barefooted, in his frock and hood. 
His grizzled beard and matted 

hair 
Obscured a visage of despair; 
His naked arms and legs, seamed 

o'er, 
The scars of frantic penance 

bore. 70 

That monk, of savage form and 

face, 
The impending danger of his race 
Had drawn from deepest solitude, 
Far in Benharrow's bosom rude. 
Not his the mien of Christian 

priest, 
But Druid's, from the grave re- 
leased, 
Whose hardened heart and eye 

might brook 
On human sacrifice to look ; 
And much, 't was said, of heathen 

lore 
Mixed in the charms he muttered 

o'er. 80 

The hallowed creed gave only 

worse 
And deadlier emphasis of curse. 
No peasant sought that Hermit's 

prayer, 
His cave the pilgrim shunned with 

care ; 
The eager huntsman knew his 

bound, 
And in mid chase called off his 

hound ; 
Or if, in lonely glen or strath, 
The desert-dweller met his path, 
He prayed, and signed the cross 

between, 89 

While terror took devotion's mien. 



Of Brian's birth strange tales were 

told. 
His mother watched a midnight 

fold, 



228 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Built deep within, a dreary glen, 
Where scattered lay the bones of 

men 
In some forgotten battle slain, 
And bleached by drifting wind and 

rain. 
It might have tamed a warrior's 

heart 
To view such mockery of his art ! 
The knot-grass fettered there the 

hand 
Which once could burst an iron 

band ; ioo 

Beneath the broad and ample 

bone, 
That bucklered heart to fear un- 
known, 
A feeble and a timorous guest, 
The fieldfare framed her lowly 

nest; 
There the slow blind worm left his 

slime 
On the fleet limbs that mocked at 

time ; 
And there, too, lay the leader's 

skull, 
Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed 

and full, 
For heath-bell with her purple 

bloom 
Supplied the bonnet and the 

plume. no 

All night, in this sad glen, the 

maid 
Sat shrouded in her mantle's 

shade : 
She said no shepherd sought her 

side, 
No hunter's hand her snood un- 
tied, 
Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 
The virgin snood did Alice wear ; 
Gone was her maiden glee and 

sport, 
Her maiden girdle all too short, 
Nor sought she, from that fatal 

night, 
Or holy church or blessed rite, 120 
But locked her secret in her 

breast, 
And died in travail, unconfessed. 



VI 

Alone, among his young compeers, 
Was Brian from his infant years ; 
A moody and heart-broken boy, 
Estranged from sympathy and joy, 
Bearing each taunt which careless 

tongue 
On his mysterious lineage flung. 
Whole nights he spent by moon- 
light pale, 
To wood and stream his hap to 
wail, 130 

Till, frantic, he as truth received 
What of his birth the crowd be- 
lieved, 
And sought, in mist and meteor 

fire, 
To meet and know his Phantom 

Sire ! 
In vain, to soothe his wayward 

fate, 
The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 
In vain the learning of the age 
Unclasped the sable-lettered page ; 
Even in its treasures he could find 
Food for the fever of his mind. 140 
Eager he read whatever tells 
Of magic, cabala, and spells, 
And every dark pursuit allied 
To curious and presumptuous 

pride ; 
Till with fired brain and nerves 

o'erstrung, 
And heart with mystic horrors 

wrung, 
Desperate he sought Benharrow's 

den, 
And hid him from the haunts of 
men. 

VII 

The desert gave him visions wild, 

Such as might suit the spectre's 
child. 150 

Where with black cliffs the tor- 
rents toil, 

He watched the wheeling eddies 
boil, 

Till from their foam his dazzled 
eyes 

Beheld the River Demon rise : 



CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING 



229 



The mountain mist took form and 

limb 
Of noontide hag or goblin grim ; 
The midnight wind came wild and 

dread, 
Swelled with the voices of the 

dead; 
Far on the future battle-heath 159 
His eye beheld the ranks of death ; 
Thus the lone Seer, from mankind 

hurled, 
Shaped forth a disembodied world. 
One lingering sympathy of mind 
Still bound him to the mortal kind ; 
The only parent he could claim 
Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 
Late had he heard, in prophet's 

dream, 
The fatal Ben-Shie's boding 

scream ; 
Sounds, too, had come in midnight 

blast 169 

Of charging steeds, careering fast 
Along Benhar row's shingly side, 
Where mortal horseman ne'er 

might ride ; 
The thunderbolt had split the 

pine, — 
All augured ill to Alpine's line. 
He girt his loins, and came to 

show 
The signals of impending woe, 
And now stood prompt to bless or 

ban, 
As bade the Chieftain of his clan. 

VIII 

'T was all prepared ; — and from 

the rock 179 

A goat, the patriarch of the flock, 
Before the kindling pile was laid, 
And pierced by Roderick's ready 

blade. 
Patient the sickening victim eyed 
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide 
Down his clogged beard and 

shaggy limb, 
Till darkness glazed his eyeballs 

dim. 
The grisly priest, with murmuring 

prayer, 



A slender crosslet framed with 

care, 
A cubit's length in measure due ; 
The shaft and limbs were rods of 

yew, 190 

Whose parents in Inch Cailliach 

wave 
Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's 

grave, 
And, answering Lomond's breezes 

deep, 
Soothe many a chieftain's endless 

sleep. 
The Cross thus formed he held on 

high, 
With wasted hand and haggard 

eye, 
And strange and mingled feelings 

woke, 
While his anathema he spoke : — 

IX 

'Woe to the clansman who shall 

view 
This symbol of sepulchral yew, 200 
Forgetful that its branches grew 
Where weep the heavens their 

holiest dew 
On Alpine's dwelling low ! 
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, 
He ne'er shall mingle with their 

dust, 
But, from his sires and kindred 

thrust, 
Each clansman's execration just 

Shall doom him wrath and woe.' 
He paused ; — the word the vassals 

took, 
With forward step and fiery look, 
On high their naked brands they 

shook, 211 

Their clattering targets wildly 

strook ; 
And first in murmur low, 
Then, like the billow in his course, 
That far to seaward finds his 

source, 
And flings to shore his mustered 

force, 
Burst with loud roar their answer 

hoarse, 



230 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



' Woe to the traitor, woe ! ' 
Ben-an's gray scalp the accents 

knew, 
The joyous wolf from covert drew, 
The exulting eagle screamed 

afar,— 221 

They knew the voice of Alpine's 

war. 



The shout was hushed on lake and 

fell, 
The Monk resumed his muttered 

spell : 
Dismal and low its accents came, 
The while he scathed the Cross 

with flame ; 
And the few words that reached 

the air, 
Although the holiest name was 

there, 
Had more of blasphemy than 

prayer. 
But when he shook above the 

crowd 230 

Its kindled points, he spoke 

aloud : — 
1 Woe to the wretch who fails to 

rear 
At this dread sign the ready spear ! 
For, as the flames this symbol sear, 
His home, the refuge of his fear, 

A kindred fate shall know ; 
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 
Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall pro- 
claim, 
While maids and matrons on his 

name 
Shall call down wretchedness and 

shame, 240 

And infamy and woe.' 
Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
As goshawk's whistle on the hill, 
Denouncing misery and ill, 
Mingled with childhood's babbling 

trill 
Of curses stammered slow ; 
Answering with imprecation 

dread, 
' Sunk be his home in embers red ! 
And cursed be the meanest shed 



That e'er shall hide the houseless 
head 250 

We doom to want and woe ! ' 
A sharp and shrieking echo gave, 
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave ! 
And the gray pass where birches 
wave 
On Beala-nam-bo. 

XI 

Then deeper paused the priest 

anew, 
And hard his laboring breath he 

drew, 
While, with set teeth and clenched 

hand, 
And eyes that glowed like fiery 

brand, 
He meditated curse more dread, 
And deadlier, on the clansman's 

head 261 

Who, summoned to his chieftain's 

aid, 
The signal saw and disobeyed. 
The crosslet's points of sparkling 

wood 
He quenched among the bubbling 

blood, 
And, as again the sign he reared, 
Hollow and hoarse his voice was 

heard : 
' When flits this Cross from man 

to man, 
Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan, 
Burst be the ear that fails to heed ! 
Palsied the foot that shuns to 

speed! 271 

May ravens tear the careless eyes, 
Wolves make the coward heart 

their prize! 
As sinks that blood-stream in the 

earth, 
So may his heart's-blood drench 

his hearth ! 
As dies in hissing gore the spark, 
Quench thou his light, Destruction 

dark ! 
And be the grace to him denied, 
Bought by this sign to all beside ! ' 
He ceased; no echo gave again 280 
The murmur of the deep Amen. 



CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING 



2M 



XII 

Then Roderick with impatient 

look 
From Brian's hand the symbol 

took: 
' Speed, Malise, speed ! ' he said, 

and gave 
The crosslet to his henchman 

brave. 
'The muster-place be Lanrick 

mead — 
Instant the time — speed, Malise, 

speed ! ' 
Like heath-bird, when the hawks 

pursue, 
A barge across Loch Katrine flew : 
High stood the henchman on the 

prow ; 290 

So rapidly the barge-men row, 
The bubbles, where they launched 

the boat, 
Were all unbroken and afloat, 
Dancing in foam and ripple still, 
When it had neared the mainland 

hill; 
And from the silver beach's side 
Still was the prow three fathom 

wide, 
When lightly bounded to the land 
The messenger of blood and brand. 

XIII 

Speed, Malise, speed! the dun 
deer's hide 300 

On fleeter foot was never tied. 

Speed, Malise, speed! such cause 
of haste 

Thine active sinews never braced. 

Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy 
breast, 

Burst down like torrent from its 
crest; 

With short and springing footstep 
pass 

The trembling bog and false mo- 
rass ; 

Across the brook like roebuck 
bound, 

And thread the brake like quest- 
ing hound ; 309 

The crag is high, the scaur is deep, 



Yet shrink not from the desperate 

leap: 
Parched are thy burning lips and 

brow, 
Yet by the fountain pause not now ; 
Herald of battle, fate, and fear, 
Stretch onward in thy fleet career l 
The wounded hind thou track'st 

not now, 
Pursuest not maid through green- 
wood bough, 
Nor pliest thou now thy flying 

pace 
With rivals in the mountain race ; 
But danger, death, and w r arrior 

deed 320 

Are in thy course — speed, Malise, 

speed ! 

XIV 

Fast as the fatal symbol flies, 

In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 

From winding glen, from upland 

brown, 
They poured each hardy tenant 

down. 
Nor slacked the messenger his 

pace: 
He show r ed the sign, he named the 

place, 
And, pressing forward like the 

w T ind, 
Left clamor and surprise behind. 
The fisherman forsook the strand, 
The swarthy smith took dirk and 

brand; 331 

With changed cheer, the mower 

blithe 
Left in the half-cut swath his 

scythe ; 
The herds without a keeper 

strayed, 
The plough was in mid-furrow 

stayed, 
The falconer tossed his hawk 

away, 
The hunter left the stag at bay ; 
Prompt at the signal of alarms, 
Each son of Alpine rushed to arms ; 
So swept the tumult and affray 340 
Along the margin of Achray. 



2 3 2 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er 
Thy banks should echo sounds of 

fear ! 
The rocks, the bosky thickets, 

sleep 
So stilly on thy bosom deep, 
The lark's blithe carol from the 

cloud 
Seems for the scene too gayly 

loud. 

xv 

Speed, Malise, speed! The lake 

is past, 
Duncraggan's huts appear at last, 
And peep, like moss-grown rocks, 

half seen, 350 

Half hidden in the copse so green ; 
There mayst thou rest, thy labor 

done, 
Their lord shall speed the signal 

on.— 
As stoops the hawk upon his prey, 
The henchman shot him down the 

way. 
What wof ul accents load the gale ? 
The funeral yell, the female wail ! 
A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 
A valiant warrior fights no more. 
Who, in the battle or the chase, 
At Roderick's side shall fill his 

place ! — 361 

Within the hall, where torch's ray 
Supplies the excluded beams of 

day, 
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier, 
And o'er him streams his widow's 

tear. 
His stripling son stands mournful 

by, 
His youngest weeps, but knows 

not why ; 
The village maids and matrons 

round 
The dismal coronach resound. 

XVI 
CORONACH 



He is gone on the mountain, 
He is lost to the forest, 



370 



Like a summer-dried fountain, 
When our need was the sorest. 

The font, reappearing, 
From the rain-drops shall bor- 
row, 

But to us comes no cheering, 
To Duncan no morrow ! 

The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary, 
But the voice of the weeper 380 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are searest, 
But our flower was in flushing, 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the correi, 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain, 390 

Like the foam on the river, 
Like the bubble on the fountain, 

Thou art gone, and forever ! 

XVII 

See Stumah, who, the bier beside, 
His master's corpse with wonder 

eyed, 
Poor Stumah! whom his least 

halloo 
Could send like lightning o'er the 

dew, 
Bristles his crest, and points his 

ears, 
As if some stranger step he hears, 
'T is not a mourner's mufiled tread, 
Who comes to sorrow o'er the 

dead, 401 

But headlong haste or deadly fear 
Urge the precipitate career. 
All stand aghast: — unheeding all, 
The henchman bursts into the hall ; 
Before the dead man's bier he stood 
Held forth the Cross besmeared 

with blood ; 
1 The muster-place is Lanrick 

mead ; 
Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, 

speed ! ' 



CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING 



233 



XVIII 

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 
Sprung forth and seized the fatal 
sign. 411 

In haste the stripling to his side 
His father's dirk and broadsword 

tied; 
But when he saw his mother's 

eye 
Watch him in speechless agony, 
Back to her opened arms he flew, 
Pressed on her lips a fond adieu, — 
4 Alas ! ' she sobbed, — ' and yet be 

gone, 
And speed thee forth, like Dun- 
can's son!' 419 
One look he cast upon the bier, 
Dashed from his eye the gathering 

tear, 
Breathed deep to clear his labor- 
ing breast, 
And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, 
Then, like the high-bred colt when, 

freed, 
First he essays his fire and speed, 
He vanished, and o'er moor and 

moss 
Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. 
Suspended was the widow's tear 
While yet his footsteps she could 

hear; 
And when she marked the hench- 
man's eye 430 
Wet with unwonted sympathy, 
'Kinsman,' she said, 'his race is 

run 
That should have sped thine er- 
rand on ; 
The oak has fallen, — the sapling 

bough 
Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 
Yet trust I well, his duty done, 
The orphan's God will guard my 

son. — 
And you in many a danger true, 
At Duncan's hest your blades that 

drew, 
To arms, and guard that orphan's 
head ! 440 

Let babes and women wail the 
dead.' 



Then weapon-clang and martial 
call 

Resounded through the funeral 
hall, 

While from the walls the attend- 
ant band 

Snatched sword and targe with 
hurried hand ; 

And short and flitting energy 

Glanced from the mourner's sunk- 
en eye, 

As if the sounds to warrior dear 

Might rouse her Duncan from his 
bier. 

But faded soon that borrowed 
force ; 450 

Grief claimed his right, and tears 
their course. 

XIX 

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, 
It glanced like lightning up Strath- 
Ire. 
? er dale and hill the summons 

flew, 
Xor rest nor pause young Angus 

knew ; 
The tear that gathered in his 

eye 
He left the mountain-breeze to 

dry; 
Until, where Teith's young waters 

roll 
Betwixt him and a wooded knoll 
That graced the sable strath with 

green, 460 

The chapel of Saint Bride was 

seen. 
Swoln was the stream, remote the 

bridge, 
But Angus paused not on the 

edge; 
Though the dark waves danced 

dizzily, 
Though reeled his sympathetic 

eye, 
He dashed amid the torrent's roar : 
His right hand high the crosslet 

bore, 
His left the pole-axe grasped, to 

guide 



2 34 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



And stay his footing in the tide. 
He stumbled twice, — the foam 

splashed high, 470 

With hoarser swell the stream 

raced by ; 
And had he fallen, — forever 

there, 
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan 

heir ! 
But still, as if in parting life, 
Firmer he grasped the Cross of 

strife, 
Until the opposing bank he gained, 
And up the chapel pathway 

strained. 

xx 

A blithesome rout that morning- 
tide 
Had sought the chapel of Saint 

Bride. 479 

Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 
To Norman, heir of Armandave, 
And, issuing from the Gothic arch, 
The bridal now resumed their 

march. 
In rude but glad procession came 
Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ; 
And plaided youth, with jest and 

jeer, 
Which snooded maiden would not 

hear ; 
And children, that, unwitting why, 
Lent the gay shout their shrilly 

cry; 
And minstrels, that in measures 

vied 490 

Before the young and bonny bride, 
Whose downcast eye and cheek 

disclose 
The tear and blush of morning 

rose. 
With virgin step and bashful hand 
She held the kerchief's snowy 

band, 
The gallant bridegroom by her side 
Beheld his prize with victor's 

pride, 
And the glad mother in her ear 
Was closely whispering word of 

cheer. 



XXI 

Who meets them at the church- 
yard gate? 500 
The messenger of fear and fate ! 
Haste in his hurried accent lies, 1 
And grief is swimming in his eyes, 
All dripping from the recent flood. 
Panting and travel-soiled he stood, 
The fatal sign of fire and sword 
Held forth, and spoke the ap- 
pointed word : 
•The muster-place is Lanrick 

mead; 
Speed forth the signal ! Norman, 

speed ! ' 
And must he change so soon the 
hand 510 

Just linked to his by holy band, 
For the fell Cross of blood and 

brand ? 
And must the day so blithe that 

rose, 
And promised rapture in the close, 
Before its setting hour, divide 
The bridegroom from the plighted 

bride ? 
fatal doom ! — it must ! it must ! 
Clan- Alpine's cause, her Chief- 
tain's trust, 
Her summons dread, brook no de- 
lay; 519 
Stretch to the race,— away ! away ! 

XXII 

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, 
And lingering eyed his lovely 

bride, 
Until he saw the starting tear 
Speak woe he might not stop to 

cheer ; 
Then, trusting not a second look, 
In haste he sped him up the brook, 
Nor backward glanced till on the 

heath 
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the 

Teith. — 
What in the racer's bosom stirred? 
The sickening pang of hope de- 
ferred, 530 
And memory with a torturing 
train 



CANTO THIRD : THE GATHERING 



235 



Of all his morning visions vain. 
Mingled with love's impatience, 

came 
The manly thirst for martial fame ; 
The stormy joy of mountaineers 
Ere yet they rush upon the spears ; 
And zeal for Clan and Chieftain 

burning, 
And hope, from well-fought field 

returning, 
With war's red honors on his 

crest, 539 

To clasp his Mary to his breast. 
Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank 

and brae, 
Like fire from flint he glanced 

away, 
While high resolve and feeling 

strong 
Burst into voluntary song. 

XXIII 
SOXG 

The heath this night must be my 

bed, 
The bracken curtain for my head, 
My lullaby the warder's tread, 
Far, far, from love and thee, 

Mary ; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, 
My couch may be my bloody plaid, 
My vesper song thy wail, sweet 

maid! 551 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 

I may not, dare not, fancy now 
The grief that clouds thy lovely 

brow, 
I dare not think upon thy vow, 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman 

know ; 
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the 

foe, 
His heart must be like bended 

how, 559 

His foot like arrow free, Mary. 

A time will come with feeling 
fraught, 



For, if I fall in battle fought, 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 
Shall be a thought on thee, 

Mary. 
And if returned from conquered 

foes, 
How blithely will the evening 

close, 
How sw 7 eet the linnet sing repose, 
To my young bride and me, 

Mary! 

XXIV' 

Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Balquidder, speeds the midnight 

blaze, 570 

Rushing in conflagration strong 
Thy deep ravines and dells along, 
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow, 
And reddening the dark lakes be- 
low; 
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far, 
As o'er thy heaths the voice of 

war. 
The signal roused to martial coil 
The sullen margin of Loch Voil, 
Waked still Loch Doine, and to 

the source 
Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy 

course ; 580 

Thence southward turned its rapid 

road 
Adown Strath - Gartney's valley 

broad, 
Till rose in arms each man might 

claim 
A portion in Clan- Alpine's name, 
From the gray sire, whose trem- 
bling hand 
Could hardly buckle on his brand, 
To the raw boy, whose shaft and 

bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 
Each valley, each sequestered 

glen, 
Mustered its little horde of men, 590 
That met as torrents from the 

height 
In highland dales their streams 

unite, 
Still gathering, as they pour along, 



236 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



A voice more loud, a tide more 
strong, 

Till at the rendezvous they stood 

By hundreds prompt for blows 
and blood, 

Each trained to arms since life be- 
gan, 

Owning no tie but to his clan, 

No oath but by his chieftain's 
hand, 

No law but Roderick Dhu's com- 
mand. 600 

XXV 

That summer morn had Roderick 

Dhu 
Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue, 
And sent his scouts o'er hill and 

heath, 
To view the frontiers of Menteith. 
All backward came with news of 

truce ; 
Still lay each martial Graeme and 

Bruce, 
In Rednock courts no horsemen 

wait, 
No banner waved on Cardross 

gate, 
On Duchray's towers no beacon 

shone, 
Nor scared the herons from Loch 

Con; 610 

All seemed at peace. — Now wot 

ye why 
The Chieftain with such anxious 

eye, 
Ere to the muster he repair, 
This western frontier scanned 

with care ? — 
In Benvenue' s most darksome 

cleft, 
A fair though cruel pledge was 

left; 
For Douglas, to his promise true, 
That morning from the isle with- 
drew, 
And in a deep sequestered dell 
Had sought a low and lonely 

cell. 620 

By many a bard in Celtic tongue 
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung ; 



A softer name the Saxons gave, 
And called the grot the Goblin 
Cave. 

xxvi 
It was a wild and strange retreat, 
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
The dell, upon the mountain's 

crest, 
Yawned like a gash on warrior's 

breast ; 
Its trench had stayed full many a 

rock, 
Hurled by primeval earthquake 

shock 630 

From Benvenue' s gray summit 

wild, 
And here, in random ruin piled, 
They frowned incumbent o'er the 

spot, 
And formed the rugged sylvan 

grot. 
The oak and birch with mingled 

shade 
At noontide there a twilight made, 
Unless when short and sudden 

shone 
Some straggling beam on cliff or 

stone, 
With such a glimpse as prophet's 

eye 
Gains on thy- depth, Futurity. 640 
No murmur waked the solemn 

still, 
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; 
But when the wind chafed with 

the lake, 
A sullen sound would upward 

break, 
With dashing hollow voice, that 

spoke 
The incessant war of wave and 

rock. 
Suspended cliffs with hideous sway 
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern 

gray. 
From such a den the wolf had 

sprung, 
In such the wild-cat leaves her 

young ; 650 

Yet Douglas and his daughter fair 



CANTO THIRD : THE GATHERING 



m 



Sought for a space their safety 
there. 

Gray Superstition's whisper dread 

Debarred the spot to vulgar tread ; 

For there, she said, did fays re- 
sort, 

And satyrs hold their sylvan court, 

By moonlight tread their mystic 
maze, 

And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 

XXVII 

Now eve, with western shadows 
long, 

Floated on Katrine bright and 
strong, 660 

When Roderick with a chosen few 

Repassed the heights of Benvenue. 

Above the Goblin Cave they go, 

Through the wild pass of Beal- 
nam-bo ; 

The prompt retainers speed be- 
fore, 

To launch the shallop from the 
shore, 

For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his 
way 

To view the passes of Achray, 

And place his clansmen in array. 

Yet lags the Chief in musing 
mind, 670 

Unwonted sight, his men behind. 

A single page, to bear his sword, 

Alone attended on his lord ; 

The rest their way through thick- 
ets break, 

And soon await him by the lake. 

It was a fair and gallant sight, 

To view them from the neighbor- 
ing height, 

By the low - levelled sunbeam's 
light! 

For strength and stature, from the 
clan 679 

Each warrior was a chosen man, 

As even afar might well be seen, 

By their proud step and martial 
mien. 

Their feathers dance, their tartans 
float, 

Their targets gleam, as by the boat 



A wild and warlike group they 
stand, 

That well became such mountain- 
strand. 

XXVIII 

Their Chief with step reluctant still 
Was lingering on the craggy hill, 
Hard by where turned apart the 

road 
To Douglas's obscure abode, 690 
It was but with that dawning 

morn 
That Roderick Dhu had proudly 

sworn 
To drown his love in war's wild 

roar, 
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ; 
But he who stems a stream with 

sand, 
And fetters flame with flaxen band, 
Has yet a harder task to prove, — 
By firm resolve to conquer love ! 
Eve finds the Chief, like restless 

ghost, 
Still hovering near his treasure 

lost ; 700 

For though his haughty heart deny 
A parting meeting to his eye, 
Still fondly strains his anxious ear 
The accents of her voice to hear, 
And inly did he curse the breeze 
That waked to sound the rustling 

trees. 
But hark! what mingles in the 

strain ? 
It is the harp of Allan-bane, 
That wakes its measure slow and 

high, 
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 710 
What melting voice attends the 

strings ? 
'T is Ellen, or an angel, sings. 

XXIX 
HYMN TO THE VIRGIN 

Ave Maria ! maiden mild ! 

Listen to a maiden's prayer ! 
Thou canst hear though from the 
wild, 






*# 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Thou canst save amid despair. 
Safe may we sleep beneath thy 
care, 
Though banished, outcast, and 
reviled — 
Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer; 
Mother, hear a suppliant child ! 
Ave Maria ! 

Ave Maria ! undented ! 721 

The flinty couch we now must 
share 
Shall seem with down of eider 
piled, 
If thy protection hover there. 
The murky cavern's heavy air 
Shall breathe of balm if thou 
hast smiled ; 
Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's 
prayer, 
Mother, list a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria ! 

Ave Maria ! stainless styled ! 
Foul demons of the earth and 
air, 730 

From this their wonted haunt 
exiled, 
Shall flee before thy presence 
fair. 
We bow us to our lot of care, 
Beneath thy guidance recon- 
ciled : 
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, 
And for a father hear a child ! 

Ave Maria ! 

XXX 

Died on the harp the closing 

hymn, — 
Unmoved in attitude and limb, 
As listening still, Clan-Alpine's 

lord 739 

Stood leaning on his heavy sword, 
Until the page with humble sign 
Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 
Then while his plaid he round him 

cast, 
1 It is the last time — 't is the last,' 
He muttered thrice, — * the last 

time e'er 
That angel-voice shall Roderick 

hear ! ' 



It was a goading thought, — his 
stride 

Hied hastier down the mountain- 
side; 

Sullen he flung him in the boat, 

An instant 'cross the lake it shot. 

They landed in that silvery bay, 

And eastward held their hasty 
way, 752 

Till, with the latest beams of light, 

The band arrived on Lanrick 
height, 

Where mustered in the vale be- 
low 

Clan- Alpine's men in martial show. 

XXXI 

A various scene the clansmen 

made: 
Some sat, some stood, some slowly 

strayed ; 
But most, with mantles folded 

round, 
Were, couched to rest upon the 

ground, 760 

Scarce to be known by curious 

eye 
From the deep heather where they 

lie, 
So well was matched the tartan 

screen 
With heath-bell dark and brackens 

green ; 
Unless where, here and there, a 

blade 
Or lance's point a glimmer made, 
Like glow-worm twinkling through 

the shade. 
But when, advancing through the 

gloom, 
They saw the Chieftain's eagle 

plume, 
Their shout of welcome, shrill and 

wide, 770 

Shook the steep mountain's steady 

side. 
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 
Three times returned the martial 

yell; 
It died upon Bochastle's plain, 
Aud Silence claimed her evening 

reign. 






CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY 



239 



CANTO FOURTH 

THE PROPHECY 



' The rose is fairest when 't is 
budding new, 
And hope is brightest when it 
dawns from fears ; 
The rose is sweetest washed with 
morning dew, 
And love is loveliest when em- 
balmed in tears. 
O wilding rose, w 7 hom fancy thus 
endears, 
I bid your blossoms in my bon- 
net wave, 
Emblem of hope and love through 
future years ! ' 
Thus spoke young Norman, heir 
of Armandave, 
What time the sun arose on Ven- 
nachar's broad wave. 

11 
Such fond conceit, half said, half 

sung, 10 

Love prompted to the bridegroom's 

tongue. 
All while he stripped the wild-rose 

spray, 
His axe and bow beside him lay, 
For on a pass 'twixt lake and 

wood 
A wakeful sentinel he stood. 
Hark! — on the rock a footstep 

rung, 
And instant to his arms he sprung. 
' Stand, or thou diest ! — What, 

Malise ? — soon 
Art thou returned from Braes of 

Doune. 
By thy keen step and glance I 

know, 20 

Thou bring' st us tidings of the 

foe.' — 
For while the Fiery Cross hied on, 
On distant scout had Malise 

gone. — 
'Where sleeps the Chief?' the 

henchman said. 



' Apart, in yonder misty glade ; 
To his lone couch I '11 be your 

guide.' — 
Then called a slumberer by his 

side, 
And stirred him with his slackened 

bow, — 
1 Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, 

ho! 
We seek the Chieftain; on the 

track 30 

Keep eagle watch till I come 

back.' 

in 

Together up the pass they sped : 

* What of the foeman ? ' Norman 
said. — 

' Varying reports from near and 
far; 

This certain, — that a band of 
war 

Has for two days been ready 
boune, 

At prompt command to march 
from Doune ; 

King James the while, with 
princely powers, 

Holds revelry in Stirling towers. 

Soon will this dark and gathering 
cloud 40 

Speak on our glens in thunder 
loud. 

Inured to bide such bitter bout, 

The warrior's plaid may bear it 
out; 

But, Norman, how wilt thou pro- 
vide 

A shelter for thy bonny bride ? ' — 

' What ! know ye not that Roder- 
ick's care 

To the lone isle hath caused re- 
pair 

Each maid and matron of the clan, 

And every child and aged man 

Unfit for arms ; and given his 
charge, 50 

Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor 
barge, 

Upon these lakes shall float at 
large, 



240 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



But all beside the islet moor, 
That such dear pledge may rest 
secure ? ' — 

IV 

°T is well advised, — the Chief- 
tain's plan 
Bespeaks the father of his clan. 
But wherefore sleeps Sir Rod- 

erick Dhu 
Apart from all his followers true ? ' 
* It is because last evening-tide 
Brian an augury hath tried, 60 
Of that dread kind which must not 

be 
Unless in dread extremity, 
The Taghairm called ; by which, 

afar, 
Our sires foresaw the events of 

war. 
Duncraggan's milk-white bull they 
slew.' — 

MALISE 

e Ah! well the gallant brute I 

knew! 
The choicest of the prey we had 
When swept our merrymen Gal- 

langad. 
His hide was snow, his horns were 

dark, 
His red eye glowed like fiery 

spark ; 7° 

So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 
Sore did he cumber our retreat, 
And kept our stoutest kerns in 

awe, 
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. 
But steep and flinty was the road, 
And sharp the hurrying pikeman's 

goad, 
And when we came to Dennan's 

Row 
A child might scathless stroke his 

brow.' 

v 

NORMAN 

1 That bull was slain ; his reeking 
hide 



They stretched the cataract be- 

side, 80 

Whose waters their wild tumult 

toss 
Adown the black and craggy 

boss 
Of that huge cliff whose ample 

verge 
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. 
Couched on a shelf beneath its 

brink, 
Close where the thundering tor- 
rents sink, 
Rocking beneath their headlong 

sway, 
And drizzled by the ceaseless 

spray, 
Midst groan of rock and roar of 

stream, 89 

The wizard waits prophetic dream. 
Nor distant rests the Chief ; — but 

hush! 
See, gliding slow through mist and 

bush, 
The hermit gains yon rock, and 

stands 
To gaze upon our slumbering 

bands. 
Seems he not, Malise, like a 

ghost, 
That hovers o'er a slaughtered 

host ? 
Or raven on the blasted oak, 
That, watching while the deer is 

broke, 
His morsel claims with sullen 

croak ? ' 

MALISE 

' Peace ! peace 1 to other than to 
me 100 

Thy words were evil augury ; 

But still I hold Sir Roderick's 
blade 

Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid, 

Not aught that, gleaned from hea- 
ven or hell, 

Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell. 

The Chieftain joins him, see — and 
now 

Together they descend the brow.' 



CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY 



241 



VI 

And, as they came, with Alpine's 

Lord 
The Hermit Monk held solemn 

word : — 109 

' Roderick ! it is a fearful strife, 
For man endowed with mortal 

life, 
Whose shroud of sentient clay can 

still 
Feel feverish pang and fainting 

chill, 
Whose eye can stare in stony 

trance, 
Whose hair can rouse like war- 
rior's lance, — 
'T is hard for such to view, un- 
furled, 
The curtain of the future world. 
Yet, witness every quaking limb, 
My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs 

dim, 
My soul with harrowing anguish 

torn, 120 

This for my Chieftain have I 

borne ! — 
The shapes that sought my fearful 

couch 
A human tongue may ne'er 

avouch ; 
No mortal man — save he, who, 

bred 
Between the living and the dead, 
Is gifted beyond nature's law — 
Had e'er survived to say he 

saw. 
At length the fateful answer came 
In characters of living flame ! 
Not spoke in word, nor blazed in 

scroll, 130 

But borne and branded on my 

soul: — 
Which spills the foremost 

fobman's life, 
That party conquers in the 

STRIFE.' 

VII 

'Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and 

. care ! 
Good is thine augury, and fair. 



Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood 
But first our broadswords tasted 

blood. 
A surer victim still I know, 
Self -off ered to the auspicious blow : 
A spy has sought my land this 

morn, 140 

No eve shall witness his return ! 
My followers guard each pass's 

mouth, 
To east, to westward, and to 

south ; 
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his 

guide, 
Has charge to lead his step3 aside, 
Till in deep path or dingle brown 
He light on those shall bring him 

down.— 
But see, who comes his news to 

show! 
Malise ! what tidings of the foe ? ' 

VIII 

' At Doune, o'er many a spear and 
glaive 150 

Two Barons proud their banners 
wave. 

I saw the Moray's silver star, 

And marked the sable pale of 
Mar.' 

1 By Alpine's soul, high tidings 
those ! 

I love to hear of worthy foes. 

When move they on?' 'To-mor- 
row's noon 

Will see them here for battle 
boune.' 

1 Then shall it see a meeting stern ! 

But, for the place,— say, couldst 
thou learn 

Nought of the friendly clans of 
Earn ? 160 

Strengthened by them, we well 
might bide 

The battle on Benledi's side. 

Thou couldst not? — well! Clan- 
Alpine's men 

Shall man the Trosachs' shaggy 
glen; 

Within Loch Katrine's gorge we '11 
fight, 



242 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



All in our maids' and matrons' 
sight. 

Each for his hearth and household 
fire, 

Father for child, and son for sire, 

Lover for maid beloved! — But 
why — 

Is it the breeze affects mine eye? 

Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear ! 

A messenger of doubt or fear? 172 

No ! sooner may the Saxon lance 

Unfix Benledi from his stance, 

Than doubt or terror can pierce 
through 

The unyielding heart of Roderick 
Dhu ! 

5 T is stubborn as his trusty targe. 

Each to his post ! — all know their 
charge.' 

The pibroch sounds, the bands ad- 
vance, 

The broadswords gleam, the ban- 
ners dance, 180 

Obedient to the Chieftains' 
glance. — 

I turn me from the martial roar. 

And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 

IX 

Where is the Douglas? — he is 

gone ; 
And Ellen sits on the gray stone 
Fast by the cave, and makes her 

moan, 
While vainly Allan's words of 

cheer 
Are poured on her unheeding ear. 
4 He will — return — dear lady, 

trust ! — 
With joy return ; — he will — he 

must. 190 

Well was it time to seek afar 
Some refuge from impending war, 
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged 

swarm 
Are cowed by the approaching 

storm. 
I saw their boats with many a 

light, 
Floating the livelong yesternight, 
Shifting like flashes darted forth 



By the red streamers of the north ? 
I marked at morn how close they 

ride, 
Thick moored by the lone islet's 

side, 200 

Like wild ducks couching in the 

fen 
When stoops the hawk upon the 

glen. 
Since this rude race dare not abide 
The peril on the mainland side, 
Shall not thy noble father's care 
Some safe retreat for thee pre- 

pare ? ' 

x 

ELLEN 

' No, Allan, no ! Pretext so kind 
My wakeful terrors could not 

blind. 
When in such tender tone, yet 

grave, 
Douglas a parting blessing gave, 
The tear that glistened in his eye 
Drowned not his purpose fixed 

and high. 212 

My soul, though feminine and 

weak, 
Can image his ; e'en as the lake, 
Itself disturbed by slightest 

stroke, 
Reflects the invulnerable rock. 
He hears report of battle rife, 
He deems himself the cause of 

strife. 
I saw him redden when the theme 
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream 
Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters 

bound, 221 

Which I, thou saidst, about him 

wound. 
Think'st thou he trowed thine 

omen aught ? 
no ! 't was apprehensive thought 
For the kind youth,— for Roderick 

too — 
Let me be just — that friend so 

true; 
In danger both, and in our cause ! 
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not 

pause. 



CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY 



243 



Why else that solemn warning 

given, 
" If not on earth, we meet in hea- 



ven ! 



23c 



Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's 

fane, 
If eve return him not again, 
Am I to hie and make me known? 
Alas, he goes to Scotland's throne, 
Buys his friends' safety with his 

own; 
He goes to do— what I had done, 
Had Douglas' daughter been his 

son!' 

XI 

' Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay ! 
If aught should his return delay, 
He only named yon holy fane 240 
As fitting place to meet again. 
Be sure he's safe; and for the 

Graeme,— 
Heaven's blessing on his gallant 

name ! — 
My visioned sight may yet prove 

true, 
Nor bode of ill to him or you. 
When did my gifted dream be- 
guile ? 
Think of the stranger at the isle, 
And think upon the harpings 

slow 
That presaged this approaching 

woe \ 249 

Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 
Believe it when it augurs cheer. 
Would we had left this dismal 

spot ! 
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot. 
Of such a wondrous tale I know — 
Dear lady, change that look of 

woe, 
My harp was wont thy grief to 

cheer.' 

ELLEN 

4 Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear, 
But cannot stop the bursting tear.' 
The Minstrel tried his simple art, 
But distant far was Ellen's heart. 



XII 

BALLAD 

ALICE BRAND 

Merry it is in the good greenwood. 
When the mavis and merle are 

singing, 262 

When the deer sweeps by, and the 

hounds are in cry. 
And the hunter's horn is ringing. 

1 Alice Brand, my native land 

Is lost for love of you ; 
And we must hold by wood and 
wold, 

As outlaws wont to do. 

' Alice, 't was all for thy locks so 
bright, 
And 't was all for thine eyes so 
blue, 270 

That on the night of our luckless 
flight 
Thy brother bold I slew. 

'Now must I teach to hew the 

beech 

The hand that held the glaive, 

For leaves to spread our lowly 

bed, 

And stakes to fence our cave. 

' And for vest of pall, thy fingers 
small, 
That wont on harp to stray, 
A cloak must shear from the 
slaughtered deer, 
To keep the cold away.' 280 

' Richard ! if my brother died, 
'T was but a fatal chance ; 

For darkling was the battle tried, 
And fortune sped the lance. 

' If pall and vair no more I wear, 
Nor thou the crimson sheen, 

As warm, we '11 say, is the russet 
gray, 
As gay the forest-green. 



244 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



* And, Richard, if our lot be hard, 
And lost thy native land, 290 

Still Alice has her own Richard, 
And he his Alice Brand.' 

XIII 
BALLAD CONTINUED 

'T is merry, 't is merry, in good 
greenwood ; 
So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; 
On the beech's pride, and oak's 
brown side, 
Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 

Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 
Who woned within the hill, — 

Like wind in the porch of a ruined 
church, 
His voice was ghostly shrill. 300 

' Why sounds yon stroke on beech 
and oak, 
Our moonlight circle's screen ? 
Or who comes here to chase the 
deer, 
Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? 
Or who may dare on wold to wear 
The fairies' fatal green ? 

4 Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie, 
For thou wert christened man ; 

For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 
For muttered word or ban. 3 10 

'Lay on him the curse of the 
withered heart, 
The curse of the sleepless eye ; 
Till he wish and pray that his life 
would part, 
Nor yet find leave to die.' 

XIV 
BALLAD CONTINUED 

'T is merry, 't is merry, in good 

greenwood, 

Though the birds have stilled 

their singing ; 

The evening blaze doth Alice raise, 

And Richard is fagots bringing. 



Up Urgan starts, that hideous 
dwarf, 
Before Lord Richard stands, 320 
And, as he crossed and blessed 

himself, 
1 1 fear not sign,' quoth the grisly 
elf, 
4 That is made with bloody 
hands.' 

But out then spoke she, Alice 
Brand, 
That woman void of fear, — 
'And if there's blood upon his 
hand, 
'T is but the blood of deer.' 

4 Now loud thou liest, thou bold of 
mood! 
It cleaves unto his hand, 
The stain of thine own kindly 
blood, , 330 

The blood of Ethert Brand.' 

Then forward stepped she, Alice 
Brand, 
And made the holy sign,— 
4 And if there 's blood on Richard's 
hand, 
A spotless hand is mine. 

4 And I conjure thee, demon elf, 
By Him whom demons fear, 

To show us whence thou art thy- 
self, 
And what thine errand here ? ' 

xv 

BALLAD CONTINUED 

4 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy- 
land, 340 
When fairy birds are singing, 
When the court doth ride by their 
monarch's side. 
With bit and bridle ringing : 

4 And gayly shines the Fairy- 
land — 
But all is glistening show, 



CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY 



245 



Like the idle gleam that Decem- 
ber's beam 
Can dart on ice and snow. 

' And fading, like that varied 
gleam, 
Is our inconstant shape, 
Who now like knight and lady 
seem, 350 

And now like dwarf and ape. 

' It was between the night and 
day, 
When the Fairy King has power, 
That I sunk down in a sinful fray. 
And 'twixt life and death was 
snatched away 
To the joyless Elfin bower. 

1 But wist I of a woman bold, 
Who thrice my brow durst sign, 

I might regain my mortal mould, 
As fair a form as thine.' 360 

She crossed him once — she 
crossed him twice — 

That lady was so brave ; 
The fouler grew his goblin hue, 

The darker grew the cave. 

She crossed him thrice, that lady 
bold; 
He rose beneath her hand 
The fairest knight on Scottish 
mould, 
Her brother, Ethert Brand ! 

Merry it is in good greenwood, 
When the mavis and merle were 
singing, 370 

But merrier were they in Dun- 
fermline gray, 
When all the bells were ringing. 

XVI 

Just as the minstrel sounds were 

stayed, 
A stranger climbed the steepy 

glade ; 
His martial step, his stately mien, 
His hunting-suit of Lincoln green, 



His eagle glance, remembrance 

claims — 
'T is Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis 

James Fitz-James. 
Ellen beheld as in a dream, 
Then, starting, scarce suppressed 

a scream : 380 

' O stranger! in such hour of fear 
What evil hap has brought thee 

here ? ' 
' An evil hap how can it be 
That bids me look again on thee ? 
By promise bound, my former 

guide 
Met me betimes this morning-tide, 
And marshalled over bank and 

bourne 
The happy path of my return.' 
1 The happy path ! — what ! said he 

naught 
Of war, of battle to be fought, 390 
Of guarded pass?' 'No, by my 

faith ! 
Nor saw I aught could augur 

scathe.' 

haste thee, Allan, to the kern : 
Yonder his tartans I discern ; 
Learn thou his purpose, and con- 
jure 

That he will guide the stranger 

sure ! — 
What prompted thee, unhappy 

man? 
The meanest serf in Roderick's 

clan 
Had not been bribed, by love or 

fear, 
Unknown to him to guide thee 

here.' 400 

XVII 

' Sweet Ellen, dear my life must 

be, 
Since it is worthy care from thee ; 
Yet life I hold but idle breath 
When love or honor 's weighed 

with death. 
Then let me profit by my chance, 
And speak my purpose bold at 

once. 

1 come to bear thee from a wild 




246 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Where ne'er before such blossom 

smiled, 
By this soft hand to lead thee far 
From frantic scenes of feud and 

war. 410 

Near Bochastle my horses wait ; 
They bear us soon to Stirling gate. 
I '11 place thee in a lovely bower, 
I'll guard thee like a tender 

flower ' — 
*0 hush, Sir Knight! 't were fe- 
male art, 
To say I do not read thy heart ; 
Too much, before, my selfish ear 
Was idly soothed my praise to 

hear. 
That fatal bait hath lured thee 

back, 
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous 

track ; 420 

And how, O how, can I atone 
The wreck my vanity brought on !— 
One way remains — I '11 tell him 

all — 
Yes! struggling bosom, forth it 

shall ! 
Thou, whose light folly bears the 

blame, 
Buy thine own pardon with thy 

shame ! 
But first — my father is a man 
Outlawed and exiled, under ban ; 
The price of blood is on his head, 
With me 't were infamy to wed. 
Still wouldst thou speak?— then 

hear the truth! 431 

Fitz- James, there is a noble youth 
If yet he is ! — exposed for me 
And mine to dread extremity — 
Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 
Forgive, be generous, and depart ! ' 

XVIII 

Fitz-James knew every wily train 
A lady's fickle heart to gain, 
But here he knew and felt them 

vain. 
There shot no glance from Ellen's 

eye, 440 

To give her steadfast speech the 

lie; 



In maiden confidence she stood, 
Though mantled in her cheek the 

blood, 
And told her love with such a sigh 
Of deep and hopeless agony, 
As death had sealed her Malcolm's 

doom 
And she sat sorrowing on his 

tomb. 
Hope vanished from Fitz-James's 

eye, 
But not with hope fled sympathy. 
He proffered to attend her 

side, 450 

As brother would a sister guide. 
* O little know'st thou Roderick's 

heart ! 
Safer for both we go apart. 
haste thee, and from Allan learn 
If thou mayst trust yon wily kern.' 
With hand upon his forehead laid, 
The conflict of his mind to shade, 
A parting step or two he made ; 
Then, as some thought had crossed 

his brain, 
He paused, and turned, and came 

again. 460 

XIX 

4 Hear, lady, yet a parting word ! — 
It chanced in fight that my poor 

sword 
Preserved the life of Scotland's 

lord. 
This ring the grateful Monarch 

gave, 
And bade, when I had boon to 

crave, 
To bring it back, and boldly claim 
The recompense that I would 

name. 
Ellen, I am no courtly lord, 
But one who lives by lance and 

sword, 
Whose castle is his helm and 

shield, 470 

His lordship the embattled field. 
What from a prince can I demand, 
Who neither reck of state nor 

land? 
Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine ; 



CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY 



247 



Each guard and usher knows the 

sign. 
Seek thou the King without delay ; 
This signet shall secure thy way : 
And claim thy suit, what'er it be, 
As ransom of his pledge to me.' 
He placed the golden circlet on, 
Paused — kissed her hand — and 

then was gone. 481 

The aged Minstrel stood aghast, 
So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 
jle joined his guide, and wending 

down 
The ridges of the mountain brown, 
Across the stream they took their 

way 
That joins Loch Katrine to Ach- 

ray. 

xx 

All in the Trosachs' glen was still, 
Noontide was sleeping on the hill : 
Sudden his guide whooped loud 

and high — 490 

' Murdoch ! was that a signal 

cry ? ■ — 
He stammered forth, ' I shout to 

scare 
Yon raven from his dainty fare.' 
He looked — he knew the raven's 

prey, 
His own brave steed: 'Ah! gal- 
lant gray ! 
For thee — for me, perchance — 

't were well 
We ne'er had seen the Trosachs' 

dell. — 
Murdoch, move first — but silently ; 
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt 

die!' 
Jealous and sullen on they 

fared, 500 

Each silent, each upon his guard. 

XXI 

Now wound the path its dizzy 

ledge 
Around a precipice's edge, 
When lo ! a wasted female form, 
Blighted by wrath of sun and 

storm, 



In tattered weeds and wild array, 
Stood on a cliff beside the way, 
And glancing round her restless 

eye, 
Upon the wood, the rock, the 

sky, 
Seemed naught to mark, yet all to 

spy. 510 

Her brow was wreathed with 

gaudy broom ; 
With gesture wild she waved a 

plume 
Of feathers, which the eagles fling 
To crag and cliff from dusky wing; 
Such spoils her desperate step had 

sought, 
Where scarce was footing for the 

goat. 
The tartan plaid she first descried, 
And shrieked till all the rocks re. 

plied ; 
As loud she laughed when near 

they drew, 
For then the Lowland garb she 

knew ; 520 

And then her hands she wildly 

wrung, 
And then she wept, and then she 

sung — 
She sung ! — the voice, in better 

time, 
Perchance to harp or lute might 

chime ; 
And now, though strained and 

roughened, still 
Rung wildly sweet to dale and 

hill. 

XXII 
SONG 

They bid me sleep, they bid me 

pray, 
They say my brain is warped 

and wrung — 
I cannot sleep on Highland brae, 
I cannot pray in Highland 

tongue. 530 

But were I now where Allan 

glides, 
Or heard my native Devan's tides, 



248 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



So sweetly would I rest, and pray 
That Heaven would close my win- 
try day ! 

'T was thus my hair they bade me 
braid, 
They made me to the church re- 
pair; 

It was my bridal morn they said, 
And my true love would meet 
me there. 

But woe betide the cruel guile 

That drowned in blood the morn- 
ing smile ! 540 

And woe betide the fairy dream ! 

I only waked to sob and scream. 

XXIII 

* Who is this maid ? what means 

her lay ? 
She hovers o'er the hollow way, 
And flutters wide her mantle gray, 
As the lone heron spreads his 

wing, 
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring.' 
"T is Blanche of Devan,' Murdoch 

said, 
*A crazed and captive Lowland 

maid, 
Ta'en on the morn she was a 

bride, 550 

When Roderick forayed Devan- 

side. 
The gay bridegroom resistance 

made, 
And felt our Chief's unconquered 

blade. 
I marvel she is now at large, 
But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's 

charge. — 
Hence, brain - sick fool ! ' — He 

raised his bow : — 

* Now, if thou strik'st her but one 

blow, 
I '11 pitch thee from the cliff as 

far 
As ever peasant pitched a bar ! ' 
4 Thanks, champion, thanks ! ' the 

Maniac cried. 560 

And pressed her to Fitz-James's 

side. 



1 See the gray pennons I prepare, 
To seek my true love through the 

air! 
I will not lend that savage groom, 
To break his fall, one downy 

plume ! 
No ! — deep amid disjointed stones, 
The wolves shall batten on his 

bones, 
And then shall his detested plaid, 
By bush and brier in mid -air 

stayed, 
Wave forth a banner fair and 

free, 570 

Meet signal for their revelry.' 

XXIV 

' Hush thee, poor maiden, and be 
still ! ' 

'0! thou look'st kindly, and I 
will. 

Mine eye has dried and wasted 
been, 

But still it loves the Lincoln green ; 

And, though mine ear is all un- 
strung, 

Still, still it loves the Lowland 
tongue. 

1 For O my sweet William was 
forester true, 
He stole poor Blanche's heart 
away! 
His coat it was all of the green- 
wood hue, 580 
And so blithely he trilled the 
Lowland lay ! 

1 It was not that I meant to 

tell . . . 
But thou art wise and guessest 

well.' 
Then, in a low and broken tone, 
And hurried note, the song went 

on. 
Still on the Clansman fearfully 
She fixed her apprehensive eye, 
Then turned it on the Knight, and 

then 
Her look glanced wildly o'er the 

glen. 



CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY 



249 



XXV 

'The toils are pitched, and the 
stakes are set, — 590 

Ever sing merrily, merrily ; 
The bows they bend, and the 
knives they whet, 
Hunters live so cheerily. 

1 It was a stag, a stag of ten, 
Bearing its branches sturdily ; 

He came stately down the glen,— 
Ever sing hardily, hardily. 

1 It was there he met with a 
wounded doe, 

She was bleeding deathfully; 
She warned him of the toils below, 

O, so faithfully, faithfully ! 601 

1 He had an eye, and he could 
heed,— 
Ever sing warily, warily ; 
He had a foot, and he could 
speed,— 
Hunters watch so narrowly.' 

XXVI 

Fitz-James's mind was passion- 
tossed, 
When Ellen's hints and fears were 

lost; 
But Murdoch's shout suspicion 

wrought, 
And Blanche's song conviction 

brought. 
Xot like a stag that spies the 

snare, 610 

But lion of the hunt aware, 
He waved at once his blade on 

high, 
1 Disclose thy treachery, or die ! ' 
Forth at full speed the Clansman 

flew, 
But in his race his bow he drew. 
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's 

crest, 
And thrilled in Blanche's faded 

breast. — 
Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy 

speed, 
For ne'er had Alpine's son such 

need; 



With heart of fire, and foot of 

wind, 620 

The fierce avenger is behind ! 
Fate judges of the rapid strife — 
The forfeit death — the prize is 

life; 
Thy kindred ambush lies before, 
Close couched upon the heathery 

moor; 
Them couldst thou reach ! — it may 

not be — 
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er 

shalt see, 
The fiery Saxon gains on thee ! — 
Resistless speeds the deadly 

thrust, 
As lightning strikes the pine to 

dust ; 630 

With foot and hand Fitz-James 

must strain 
Ere he can win his blade again. 
Bent o'er the fallen with falcon 

eye, 
He grimly smiled to see him die, 
Then slower wended back his way, 
Where the poor maiden bleeding 

lay. 

XXVII 

She sat beneath the birchen tree, 

Her elbow resting on her knee ; 

She had withdrawn the fatal shaft, 

And gazed on it, and feebly- 
laughed ; 640 

Her wreath of broom and feathers 
gray, 

Daggled with blood, beside her 
lay. 

The Knight to stanch the life- 
stream tried,— 

' Stranger, it is in vain ! ' she cried. 

' This hour of death has given me 
more 

Of reason's power than years be- 
fore; 

For, as these ebbing veins decay, 

My frenzied visions fade away. 

A helpless injured wretch I die, 

And something tells me in thine 
eye 650 

That thou wert mine avenger 
born. 



250 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Seest thou this tress ? — 0< still I ' ve 

worn 
This little tress of yellow hair, 
Through danger, frenzy, and de- 
spair ! 
It once was bright and clear as 

thine, 
But blood and tears have dimmed 

its shine. 
I will not tell thee when 'twas 

shred, 
Nor from what guiltless victim's 

head,— 
My brain would turn ! but it shall 

wave 659 

Like plumage on thy helmet brave, 
Till sun and wind shall bleach the 

stain, 
And thou wilt bring it me again. 
I waver still. — God ! more 

bright 
Let reason beam her parting 

light l — 
O, by thy knighthood's honored 

sign, 
And for thy life preserved by 

mine, 
When thou shalt see a darksome 

man, 
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's 

Clan, 
With tartans broad and shadowy 

plume, 
And hand of blood, and brow of 

gloom, 670 

Be thy heart bold, thy weapon 

strong, 
And wreak poor Blanche of De- 
van's wrong ! — 
They watch for thee by pass and 

fell . . . 
Avoid the path . . . O God! . . . 

farewell ! ' 

XXXIII 

A kindly heart had brave Fitz- 

James ; 
Fast poured his eyes at pity's 

claims ; 
And now, with mingled grief and 

ire, 



He saw the murdered maid expire. 
4 God, in my need, be my relief, 679 
As I wreak this on yonder Chief ! ' 
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 
He blended with her bridegroom's 

hair; 
The mingled braid in blood he 

dyed, 
And placed it on his bonnet-side : 
'By Him whose word is truth, I 

swear, 
No other favor will I wear, 
Till this sad token I imbrue 
In the best blood of Roderick 

Dhu ! — 
But hark! what means yon faint 

halloo ? 
The chase is up, — but they shall 

know, 690 

The stag at bay's a dangerous 

foe.' 
Barred from the known but guarded 

way, 
Through copse and cliffs Fitz- 

James must stray, 
And oft must change his desperate 

track, 
By stream and precipice turned 

back. 
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at 

length, 
From lack of food and loss of 

strength, 
He couched him in a thicket hoar, 
And thought his toils and perils 

o'er : — 699 

' Of all my rash adventures past, 
This frantic feat must prove the 

last! 
Who e'er so mad but might have 

guessed 
That all this Highland hornet's 

nest 
Would muster up in swarms so 

soon 
As e'er they heard of bands at 

Doune ? — 
Like bloodhounds now they search 

me out, — 
Hark, to the whistle and the 

shout ! — - 



CANTO FOURTH : THE PROPHECY 



251 



If farther through the wilds I go, 

I only fall upon the foe : 

I '11 couch me here till evening 

gray, 710 

Then darkling try my dangerous 

way.' 

XXIX 

The shades of eve come slowly 

down, 
The woods are wrapt in deeper 

brown, 
The owl awakens from her dell, 
The fox is heard upon the fell ; 
Enough remains of glimmering 

light 
To guide the wanderer's steps 

aright, 
Yet not enough from far to show 
His figure to the watchful foe. 719 I 
With cautious step and ear awake, | 
He climbs the crag and threads 

the brake : 
And not the summer solstice there 
Tempered the midnight mountain 

air, 
But every breeze that swept the 

wold 
Benumbed his drenched limbs 

with cold. 
In dread, in danger, and alone, 
Famished and chilled, through 

ways unknown, 
Tangled and steep, he journeyed 

on; 
Till, as a rock's huge point he 

turned, 
A watch-fire close before him 

burned. 730 

XXX 

Beside its embers red and clear, 
Basked in his plaid a mountaineer ; 
And up he sprung with sword in 

hand, — 
' Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, 

stand ! ' 
' A stranger.' ' What dost thou re- 

quire ? ' 
'Rest and a guide, and food and 

fire. 



My life 's beset, my path is lost, 
The gale has chilled my limbs with 

frost.' 
' Art thou a friend to Roderick ? ' 

•No.' 
' Thou dar'st not call thyself a 

foe?' 740 

' I dare ! to him and all the band 
He brings to aid his murderous 

hand.' 
1 Bold words ! —- but, though the 

beast of game 
The privilege of chase may claim. 
Though space and law the stag 

we lend, 
Ere hound we slip or bow we 

bend, 
Who ever recked, where, how, or 

when, 
The prowling fox was trapped or 

slain ? 
Thus treacherous scouts,— yet 

sure they lie, 
Who say thou cam'st a secret 

spy ! ' — 750 

1 They do, by heaven ! — come Rod- 
erick Dhu, 
And of his clan the boldest two, 
And let me but till morning rest, 
I write the falsehood on their 

crest.' 
' If by the blaze I mark aright, 
Thou bear'st the belt and spur of 

Knight.' 
' Then by these tokens mayst 

thou know 
Each proud oppressor's mortal 

foe.' 
1 Enough, enough ; sit down and 

share 759 

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare.' 

XXXI 

He gave him of his Highland 

cheer, 
The hardened flesh of mountain 

deer ; 
Dry fuel on the fire he laid, 
And bade the Saxon share his 

plaid. 
He tended him like welcome guest, 



252 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Then thus his further speech ad- 
dressed:— 
4 Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 
A clansman born, a kinsman true : 
Each word against his honor 

spoke 769 

Demands of me avenging stroke ; 
Yet more, — upon thy fate, 't is 

said, 
A mighty augury is laid. 
It rests with me to wind my 

horn, — 
Thou art with numbers overborne ; 
It rests with me, here, brand to 

brand, 
Worn as thou art, to bid thee 

stand : 
But, not for clan, nor kindred's 

cause, 
Will I depart from honor's laws ; 
To assail a wearied man were 

shame, 
And stranger is a holy name ; 780 
Guidance and rest, and food and 

fire, 
In vain he never must require. 
Then rest thee here till dawn of 

day; 
Myself will guide thee on the way 
O'er stock and stone, through 

watch and ward, 
Till past Clan-Alpine 1 s outmost 

guard, 
As far as Coilantogle's ford ; 
From thence thy warrant is thy 

sword.' 
1 1 take thy courtesy, by heaven, 
As freely as 't is nobly given ! * 790 
* Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's 

cry 
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby.' 
With that he shook the gathered 

heath, 
And spread his plaid upon the 

wreath ; 
And the brave foemen, side by 

side, 
Lay peaceful down like brothers 

tried, 
And slept until the dawning beam 
Purpled the mountain and the 

stream. 



CANTO FIFTH 

THE COMBAT 



Fair as the earliest beam of east- 
ern light, 
When first, by the bewildered 
pilgrim spied, 
It smiles upon the dreary brow of 
night, 
And silvers o'er the torrent's 
foaming tide, 
And lights the fearful path on 
mountain-side, — 
Fair as that beam, although the 
fairest far, 
Giving to horror grace, to danger 
pride, 
Shine martial Faith, and Cour- 
tesy's bright star, 
Through all the wreckful storms 
that cloud the brow of War. 

n 

That early beam, so fair and 

sheen, 10 

Was twinkling through the hazel 

screen, 
When, rousing at its glimmer red, 
The warriors left their lowly bed, 
Looked out upon the dappled sky, 
Muttered their soldier matins by, 
And then awaked their fire, to 

steal, 
As short and rude, their soldier 

meal. 
That o'er, the Gael around him 

threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue, 
And, true to promise, led the way, 
By thicket green and mountain 

gray. 21 

A wildering path! — they winded 

now 
Along the precipice's brow, 
Commanding the rich scenes be- 
neath, 
The windings of the Forth and 

Teith, 
And all the vales between that 

lie, 



CANTO FIFTH : THE COMBAT 



253 



Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky; 

Then, sunk in copse, their farthest 
glance 

Gained not the length of horse- 
man's lance. 

'T was oft so steep, the foot was 
fain 30 

Assistance from the hand to gain ; 

So tangled oft that, bursting 
through, 

Each hawthorn shed her showers 
of dew,— 

That diamond dew, so pure and 
clear, 

It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 

111 
At length they came where, stern 

and steep, 
The hill sinks down upon the deep. 
Here Vennachar in silver flows, 
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ; 
Ever the hollow path twined on, 40 
Beneath steep bank and threaten- 
ing stone ; 
A hundred men might hold the 

post 
With hardihood against a host. 
The rugged mountain's scanty 

cloak 
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and 

oak, 
With shingles bare, and cliffs be- 
tween, 
And patches bright of bracken 

green, 
And heather black, that waved so 

high, 
It held the copse in rivalry. 
But where the lake slept deep and 

still, 50 

Dank osiers fringed the swamp 

and hill ; 
And oft both path and hill were 

torn, 
Where wintry torrent down had 

borne, 
And heaped upon the cumbered 

land 
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and 

sand. 



So toilsome was the road to trace, 
The guide, abating of his pace, 
Led slowly through the pass's 

jaws, 
And asked Fitz-James by what 

strange cause 
He sought these wilds, traversed 

by few, 60 

Without a pass from Roderick 

Dhu. 

IV 

1 Brave Gael, my pass, in danger 

tried, 
Hangs in my belt and by my side, 
Yet, sooth to tell,' the Saxon said, 
' I dreamt not now to claim its aid. 
When here, but three days since, 

I came, 
Bewildered in pursuit of game, 
All seemed as peaceful and as still 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ; 
Thy dangerous Chief was then 

afar, 70 

Xor soon expected back from war. 
Thus said, at least, my mountain- 
guide, 
Though deep perchance the villain 

lied.' 
1 Yet why a second venture try ? ' 
'A warrior thou, and ask me 

why ! - 
Moves our free course by such 

fixed cause 
As gives the poor mechanic laws? 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
The lazy hours of peaceful day; 
Slight cause will then suffice to 

guide 80 

A Knight's free footsteps far and 

wide, — 
A falcon flown, a greyhound 

strayed, 
The merry glance of mountain 

maid; 
Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
The danger's self is lure alone.' 



' Thy secret keep, 
not; — 



I urge thee 



254 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Yet, ere again ye sought this spot, 
Say, heard ye naught of Lowland 

war, 
Against Clan-Alpine, raised by 

Mar?* 
1 No, by my word ; — of bands pre- 

pared 90 

To guard King James's sports I 

heard ; 
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they 

hear 
This muster of the mountaineer, 
Their pennons will abroad be flung, 
Which else in Doune had peaceful 

hung.' 
1 Free be they flung ! for we were 

loath 
Their silken folds should feast the 

moth. 
Free be they flung ! — as free shall 

wave 
Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, stranger, peaceful since you 

came, 100 

Bewildered in the mountain-game, 
"Whence the bold boast by which 

you show 
Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal 

foe?' 
* Warrior, but yester-morn I knew 
Naught of thy Chieftain, Koderick 

Dhu, 
Save as an outlawed desperate 

man, 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
Who, in the Regent's court and 

sight, 
With ruffian dagger stabbed a 

knight; 109 

Yet this alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart' 

VI 

Wrathful at such arraignment 
foul, 

Dark lowered the clansman's sa- 
ble scowl. 

A space he paused, then sternly 
said, 

; And heardst thou why he drew 
his blade ? 



Heardst thou that shameful word 

and blow 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on 

his foe? 
What recked the Chieftain if he 

stood 
On Highland heath or Holy-Rood ? 
He rights such wrong where it is 

given, 120 

If it were in the court of heaven.' 
4 Still was it outrage ; — yet, 't is 

true, 
Not then claimed sovereignty his 

due; 
While Albany with feeble hand 
Held borrowed truncheon of com- 
mand, 
The young King, mewed in Stir- 
ling tower, 
Was stranger to respect and 

power. 
But then, thy Chieftain's robber 

life ! — 
"Winning mean prey by causeless 

strife, 
Wrenching from ruined Lowland 

swain 130 

His herds and harvest reared in 

vain,— 
Methinks a soul like thine should 

scorn 
The spoils from such foul foray 

borne.' 

VII 

The Gael beheld him grim the 

while, 
And answered with disdainful 

smile : 
1 Saxon, from yonder mountain 

high, 
I marked thee send delighted eye 
Far to the south and east, where 

lay, 
Extended in succession gay, 
Deep waving fields and pastures 

green, 140 

With gentle slopes and groves be- 
tween : — 
These fertile plains, that softened 

vale, 



CANTO FIFTH : THE COMBAT 



255 



Were once the birthright of the 

Gael; 
The stranger came with iron hand, 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
Where dwell we now ? See, rudely 

swell 
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
Ask we this savage hill we tread 
For fattened steer or household 

bread, 
Ask we for flocks these shingles 

dry, 150 

And well the mountain might re- 
ply,— 
" To you, as to your sires of yore, 
Belong the target and claymore ! 
I give you shelter in my breast, 
Your own good blades must win 

the rest." 
Pent in this fortress of the Xorth, 
Think'st thou we will not sally 

forth, 
To spoil the spoiler as we may, 
And from the robber rend the 

prey? 
Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon 

plain 160 

The Saxon rears one shock of 

grain, 
While of ten thousand herds there 

strays 
But one along yon river's maze,— 
The Gael, of plain and river heir, 
Shall with strong hand redeem his 

share. 
Where live the mountain Chiefs 

who hold 
That plundering Lowland field 

and fold 
Is aught but retribution true ? 
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick 

Dhu.' 

VIII 

Answered Fitz-James: 'And, if I 
sought, 170 

Think'st thou no other could be 
brought ? 

What deem ye of my path way- 
laid? 

My life given o'er to ambuscade?' 



' As of a meed to rashness due : 
Hadst thou sent warning fair and 

true, — 
I seek my hound or falcon strayed, 
I seek, good faith, a Highland 

maid,— 
Free hadst thou been to come and 

go; 
But secret path marks secret foe. 
Nor yet for this, even as a spy, 180 
Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed 

to die, 
Save to fulfil an augury/ 
' Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 
Fresh cause of enmity avow, 
To chafe thy mood and cloud thy 

brow. 
Enough, I am by promise tied 
To match me with this man of 

pride : 
Twice have I sought Clan- Alpine's 

glen 
In peace ; but w 7 hen I come again, 
I come with banner, brand, and 

bow, 190 

As leader seeks his mortal foe. 
For love-lorn swain in lady's 

bower 
Ne'er panted for the appointed 

hour, 
As I, until before me stand 
This rebel Chieftain and his 

band ! ' 

IX 

' Have then thy wish ! ' — He whis- 
tled shrill, 

And he was answered from the 
hill; 

Wild as the scream of the curlew, 

From crag to crag the signal flew\ 

Instant, through copse and heath, 
arose 200 

Bonnets and spears and bended 
bows ; 

On right, on left, above, below, 

Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 

From shingles gray their lances 
start, 

The bracken bush sends forth the 
dart, 



256 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



The rushes and the willow-wand 
Are bristling into axe and brand, 
And every tuft of broom gives life 
To plaided warrior armed for 

strife. 209 

That whistle garrisoned the glen 
At once with full five hundred men, 
As if the yawning hill to heaven 
A subterranean host had given. 
Watching their leader's beck and 

will, 
All silent there they stood and 

still. 
Like the loose crags whose threat- 
ening mass 
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 
As if an infant's touch could urge 
Their headlong passage down the 

verge, 
With step and weapon forward 

flung, 220 

Upon the mountain - side they 

hung. 
The Mountaineer cast glance of 

pride 
Along Benledi's living side, 
Then fixed his eye and sable brow 
Full on Fitz-James: 'How say'st 

thou now ? 
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors 

true ; 
And, Saxon, — I am Roderick 

Dim!' 

x 

Fitz-James was brave : — though 

to his heart 
The life-blood thrilled with sudden 

start, 
He manned himself with dauntless 

air, 230 

Returned the Chief his haughty 

stare, 
His back against a rock he bore, 
And firmly placed his foot be- 
fore : — 
4 Come one, come all ! this rock 

shall fly 
From its firm base as soon as I.' 
Sir Roderick marked, — and in his 

eyes 



Respect was mingled with sur- 
prise, 

And the stern joy which warriors 
feel 

In foeman worthy of their steel. 

Short space he stood — then waved 
his hand : 240 

Down sunk the disappearing 
band ; 

Each warrior vanished where he 
stood, 

In broom or bracken, heath or 
wood; 

Sunk brand and spear and bended 
bow, 

In osiers pale and copses low ; 

It seemed as if their mother Earth 

Had swallowed up her warlike 
birth. 

The wind's last breath had tossed 
in air 

Pennon and plaid and plumage 
fair, — 

The next but swept a lone hill- 
side, 250 

Where heath and fern were wav- 
ing wide : 

The sun's last glance was glinted 
back 

From spear and glaive, from targe 
and jack ; 

The next, all unreflected, shone 

On bracken green and cold gray 
stone. 



XI 



yet 



Fitz-James looked round, 

scarce believed 
The witness that his sight re- 
ceived; 
Such apparition well might seem 
Delusion of a dreadful dream. 259 
Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 
And to his look the Chief replied : 
' Fear naught — nay, that I need 

not say — 
But— doubt not aught from mine 

array. 
Thou art my guest; — I pledged 

my word 
As far as Coilantogle ford : 



CANTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT 



257 



Nor would I call a clansman's 

brand 
For aid against one valiant hand, 
Though on our strife lay every 

vale 
Rent by the Saxon from the 

Gael. 269 

So move we on ; — I only meant 
To show the reed on which you 

leant, 
Deeming this path you might pur- 

sue 
Without a pass from Roderick 

Dhu.' 
They moved ; — I said Fitz-James 

was brave 
As ever knight that belted glaive, 
Yet dare not say that now his 

blood 
Kept on its wont and tempered 

flood, 
As, following Roderick's stride, he 

drew 
That seeming lonesome pathway 

through, 
Which yet by fearful proof was 

rife 280 

With lances, that, to take his 

life, 
Waited but signal from a guide, 
So late dishonored and defied. 
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought 

round 
The vanished guardians of the 

ground, 
And still from copse and heather 

deep 
Fancy saw spear and broadsword 

peep, 
And in the plover's shrilly strain 
The signal whistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free till far be- 
hind 290 
The pass was left; for then they 

wind 
Along a wide and level green, 
Where neither tree nor tuft was 

seen, 
Nor rush nor bush of broom was 

near, 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 



XII 

The Chief in silence strode before, 
And reached that torrent's sound- 
ing shore, 
Which, daughter of three mighty 

lakes, 
From Vennachar in silver breaks, 
Sweeps through the plain, and 

ceaseless mines 300 

On Bochastle the mouldering 

lines, 
Where Rome, the Empress of the 

world, 
Of yore her eagle wings unfurled. 
And here his course the Chieftain 

stayed, 
Threw down his target and his 

plaid, 
And to the Lowland warrior said : 
' Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
Vich- Alpine has discharged his 

trust. 
This murderous Chief, this ruth- 
less man, 
This head of a rebellious clan, 310 
Hath led thee safe, through watch 

and ward, 
Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost 

guard. 
Now, man to man, and steel to 

steel, 
A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt 

feel. 
See, here all vantageless I stand, 
Armed like thyself with single 

brand ; 
For this is Coilantogle ford, 
And thou must keep thee with thy 

sword. 

XIII 

The Saxon paused : ' I ne'er de- 
layed, 

When foeman bade me draw my 
blade; 320 

Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed 
thy death ; 

Yet sure thy fair and generous 
faith, 

And my deep debt for life pre- 
served, 



: 5 8 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



A better meed have well deserved : 
Can naught but blood our feud 

atone ? 
Are there no means ?'—' No, 

stranger, none ! 
And hear, — to fire thy flagging 

zeal,— 
The Saxon cause rests on thy 

steel; 
For thus spoke Fate by prophet 

bred 329 

Between the living and the dead : 
" Who spills the foremost f oeman's 

life, 
His party conquers in the strife." ' 
'Then, by my word,' the Saxon 

said, 
4 The riddle is already read. 
Seek yonder brake beneath the 

cliff, - 
There lies Red Murdoch, stark 

and stiff. 
Thus Fate hath solved her pro- 
phecy ; 
Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 
To James at Stirling let us go, 339 
When, if thou wilt be still his foe, 
Or if the King shall not agree 
To grant thee grace and favor free, 
I plight mine honor, oath, and 

word 
That, to thy native strengths re- 
stored, 
With each advantage shalt thou 

stand 
That aids thee now to guard thy 

land.' 

XIV 

Dark lightning flashed from Rod- 
erick's eye : 

'Soars thy presumption, then, so 
high, 348 

Because a wretched kern ye slew, 

Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 

He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 

Thou add'st but fuel to my hate ; — 

My clansman's blood demands re- 
venge. 

Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I 
change 



My thought, and hold thy valor 

light 
As that of some vain carpet 

knight, 
Who ill deserved my courteous 

care, 
And whose best boast is but to 

wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair.' 
' I thank thee, Roderick, for the 

word ! 360 

It nerves my heart, it steels my 

sword ; 
For I have sworn this braid to 

stain 
In the best blood that warms thy 

vein. 
Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth, 

begone ! — 
Yet think not that by thee alone, 
Proud Chief ! can courtesy be 

shown ; 
Though not from copse, or heath, 

or cairn, 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee 

cast. 370 

But fear not— doubt not — which 

thou wilt — 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt.' 
Then each at once his falchion 

drew, 
Each on the ground his scabbard 

threw, 
Each looked to sun and stream 

and plain 
As what they ne'er might see 

again; 
Then foot and point and eye op- 
posed, 
In dubious strife they darkly 

closed. 

xv 

111 fared it then with Roderick 

Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he 

threw, 380 

Whose brazen studs and tough 

bull-hide 



CANTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT 



259 



Had death so often dashed aside ; 
For, trained abroad his arms to 

wield, 
Fitz- James's blade was sword and 

shield. 
He practised every pass and ward, 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to 

guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger 

far, 
The Gael maintained unequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they 

stood, 
And thrice the Saxon blade drank 

blood; 390 

No stinted draught, no scanty tide, 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal 

drain, 
And showered his blows like win- 
try rain ; 
And, as firm rock or castle-roof 
Against the winter shower is 

proof, 
The foe, invulnerable still, 
Foiled his wild rage by steady 

skill; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from 

his hand, 400 

And backward borne upon the lea, 
Brought the proud Chieftain to his 

knee. 

XVI 

■ Now yield thee, or by Him who 

made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes 

my blade ! ' 
1 Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield, who fears to 

die.' 
Like adder darting from his coil, 
Like wolf that dashes through the 

toil, 
Like mountain-cat who guards her 

young, 
Full at Fitz- James's throat he 

sprung; 410 

Received, but recked not of a 

wound, 



And locked his arms his foeman 

round. — 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine 

own ! 
No maiden's hand is round thee 

thrown ! 
That desperate grasp thy frame 

might feel 
Through bars of brass and triple 

steel ! 
They tug, they strain ! down, down 

they go, 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
The Chieftain's gripe his throat 

compressed, 
His knee was planted on his 

breast; 420 

His clotted locks he backward 

threw, 
Across his brow his hand he drew, 
From blood and mist to clear his 

sight, 
Then gleamed aloft his dagger 

bright ! 
But hate and fury ill supplied 
The stream of life's exhausted tide, 
And all too late the advantage 

came, 
To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
For, while the dagger gleamed on 

high, 
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain 

and eye. 430 

Down came the blow! but in the 

heath 
The erring blade found bloodless 

sheath. 
The struggling foe may now un- 
clasp 
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp : 
Unwounded from the dreadful 

close, 
But breathless all, Fitz-James 

arose. 

XYII 

He faltered thanks to Heaven for 
life, 

Redeemed, unhoped, from despe- 
rate strife : 

Next on his foe his look he cast, 



26o 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Whose every gasp appeared his 

last ; 440 

In Koderick's gore he dipped the 

braid, — 
4 Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are 

dearly paid ; 
Yet with thy foe must die, or live, 
The praise that faith and valor 

give.' 
With that he blew a bugle note, 
Undid the collar from his throat, 
Unbonneted, and by the wave 
Sat down his brow and hands to 

lave. 
Then faint afar are heard the feet 
Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 
The sounds increase, and now are 

seen 451 

Four mounted squires in Lincoln 

green ; 
Two who bear lance, and two who 

lead 
By loosened rein a saddled steed ; 
Each onward held his headlong 

course, 
And by Fitz-James reined up his 

horse,— 
With wonder viewed the bloody 

spot, — 
' Exclaim not, gallants ! question 

not.— 
You, Herbert and Luffness, alight, 
And bind the wounds of yonder 

knight ; 460 

Let the gray palfrey bear his 

weight, 
We destined for a fairer freight. 
And bring him on to Stirling 

straight ; 
I will before at better speed, 
To seek fresh horse and fitting 

weed. 
The sun rides high ; — I must be 

boune 
To see the archer-game at noon ; 
But lightly Bayard clears the lea.— 
De Vaux and Herries, follow me. 

XVIII 

* Stand, Bayard, stand ! '— the steed 
obeyed, 470 



With arching neck and bended 

head, 
And glancing eye and quivering 

ear, 
As if he loved his lord to hear. 
No foot Fitz-James in stirrup 

stayed, 
No grasp upon the saddle laid, 
But wreathed his left hand in the 

mane, 
And lightly bounded from the 

plain, 
Turned on the horse his armed 

heel, 
And stirred his courage with the 

steel. 
Bounded the fiery steed in air, 480 
The rider sat erect and fair, 
Then like a bolt from steel cross- 

bow 
Forth launched, along the plain 

they go. 
They dashed that rapid torrent 

through, 
And up Carhonie's hill they flew; 
Still at the gallop pricked the 

Knight, 
His merrymen followed as they 

might. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith, they 

ride, 
And in the race they mock thy 

tide ; 489 

Torry and Lendrick now are past, 
And Deanstown lies behind them 

cast; 
They rise, the bannered towers of 

Doune, 
They sink in distant woodland 

soon; 
Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs 

strike fire, 
They sweep like breeze through 

Ochtertyre ; 
They mark just glance and disap- 
pear 
The lofty brow of ancient Kier; 
They bathe their coursers' swelter- 
ing sides, 
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish 

tides, 



CANTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT 



261 



And on the opposing shore take 

ground, 5°° 

With plash, with scramble, and 

with bound. 
Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, | 

Craig-Forth ! 
And soon the bulwark of the North, 
Gray Stirling, with her towers and 

town, 
Upon their fleet career looked 

down. 

XIX 

As up the flinty path they strained, 

Sudden his steed the leader 
reined ; 

A signal to his squire he flung, 

Who instant to his stirrup 
sprung : — 

4 Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woods- 
man gray, 510 

Who townward holds the rocky 
way, 

Of stature tall and poor array ? 

Mark' st thou the firm, yet active 
stride, 

With which he scales the moun- 
tain-side ? 

Know'st thou from whence he 
comes, or whom?' 

4 No, by my word ; — a burly groom 

He seems, who in the field or 
chase 

A baron's train would nobly 
grace — ' 

4 Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear sup- 
ply, 

And jealousy, no sharper eye ? 520 

Afar, ere to the hill he drew, 

That stately form and step I knew ; 

Like form in Scotland is not 
seen, 

Treads not such step on Scottish 
green. 

'T is James of Douglas, by Saint 
Serle ! 

The uncle of the banished Earl. 

Away, away, to court, to show 

The near approach of dreaded foe : 

The King must stand upon his 
guard ; 



Douglas and he must meet pre- 
pared.' 530 

Then right - hand wheeled their 
steeds, and straight 

They won the Castle's postern 
gate. 

xx 

The Douglas who had bent his 

way 
From Cambus - kenneth's abbey 

gray, 
Now, as he climbed the rocky 

shelf, 
Held sad communion with him- 
self : — 
4 Yes ! all is true my fears could 

frame ; 
A prisouer lies the noble Grseuie, 
And fiery Roderick soon will feel 
The vengeance of the royal steel. 
I, only I, can ward their fate,— 
God grant the ransom come not 

late ! 542 

The Abbess hath her promise 

given, 
My child shall be the bride of 

Heaven ; — 
Be pardoned one repining tear ! 
For He who gave her knows how 

dear, 
How excellent! — but that is by, 
And now my business is — to 

die.— 
Ye towers! within whose circuit 

dread 549 

A Douglas by his sovereign bled ; 
And thou, sad and fatal mound! 
That oft hast heard the death-axe 

sound, 
A s on the noblest of the land 
Fell the stern headsman's bloody 

hand, — 
The dungeon, block, and nameless 

tomb 
Prepare — for Douglas seeks his 

doom ! 
But hark ! what blithe and jolly 

peal 
Makes the Franciscan steeple 

reel ? 



262 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



And see ! upon the crowded street, 
In motley groups what masquers 

meet ! 560 

Banner and pageant, pipe and 

drum, 
And merry morrice-dancers come. 
I guess, by all this quaint array, 
The burghers hold their sports to- 
day. 
James will be there ; he loves such 

show, 
Where the good yeoman bends his 

bow, 
And the tough wrestler foils his 

foe, 
As well as where, in proud career, 
The high-born tilter shivers spear. 
I '11 follow to the Castle-park, 570 
And play my prize ; — King James 

shall mark 
If age has tamed these sinews 

stark, 
Whose force so oft in happier 

days 
His boyish wonder loved to praise.' 

XXI 

The Castle gates were open flung, 
The quivering drawbridge rocked 

and rung. 
And echoed loud the flinty street 
Beneath the courser's clattering 

feet, 
As slowly down the steep descent 
Fair Scotland's King and nobles 

went, 580 

While all along the crowded way. 
Was jubilee and loud huzza. 
And ever James w T as bending 

low 
To his white jennet's saddle-bow, 
Doffing his cap to city dame, 
Who smiled and blushed for pride 

and shame. 
And well the simperer might be 

vain,— 
He chose the fairest of the train. 
Gravely he greets each city sire, 
Commends each pageant's quaint 

attire, 590 

Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, 



And smiles and nods upon the 
crowd, 

Who rend the heavens with their 
acclaims,— 

' Long live the Commons' King, 
King James ! ' 

Behind the King thronged peer 
and knight, 

And noble dame and damsel 
bright, 

Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the 
stay 

Of the steep street and crowded 
way. 

But in the train you might dis- 
cern 

Dark lowering brow and visage 
stern ; 600 

There nobles mourned their pride 
restrained, 

And the mean burgher's joys dis- 
dained ; 

And chiefs, who, hostage for their 
clan, 

Were each from home a banished 
man, 

There thought upon their own 
gray tower, 

Their waving woods, their feudal 
power, 

And deemed themselves a shame- 
ful part 

Of pageant which they cursed in 
heart. 

XXII 

Now, in the Castle-park, drew out 
Their checkered bands the joyous 

rout. 610 

There morricers, with bell at heel 
And blade in hand, their mazes 

wheel; 
But chief, beside the butts, there 

stand 
Bold Robin Hood and all his 

band, — 
Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and 

cowl, 
Old Scathelocke with his surly 

scowl, 
Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone, 



CANTO FIFTH : THE COMBAT 



263 



Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little 
John ; 

Their bugles challenge all that 
will. 

In archery to prove their skill. 620 

The Douglas bent a bow of 
might, — 

His first shaft centred in the white, 

And when in turn he shot again, 

His second split the first in twain. 

From the King's hand must Doug- 
las take 

A silver dart, the archer's stake ; 

Fondly he watched, with watery 
eye, 

Some answering glance of sym- 
pathy, — 

No kind emotion made reply ! 

Indifferent as to archer wight, 630 

The monarch gave the arrow 
bright. 

XXIII 

Now, clear the ring ! for, hand to 

hand, 
The manly wrestlers take their 

stand. 
Two o'er the rest superior rose, 
And proud demanded mightier 

foes, — 
Nor called in vain, for Douglas 

came.— 
For life is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, 
Whom senseless home his com- 

rades bare. 
Prize of the wrestling match, the 

King 640 

To Douglas gave a golden ring, 
While coldly glanced his eye of 

blue, 
As frozen drop of wintry dew. 
Douglas would speak, but in his 

breast 
His struggling soul his words sup- 
pressed : 
Indignant then he turned him 

where 
Their arms the brawny yeomen 

bare, 
To hurl the massive bar in air. 



When each his utmost strength 

had shown, 
The Douglas rent an earth-fast 

stone 650 

From its deep bed, then heaved it 

high, 
And sent the fragment through 

the sky 
A rood beyond the farthest mark • 
And still in Stirling's royal park, 
The gray-haired sires, who know 

the past, 
To strangers point the Douglas 

cast, 
And moralize on the decay 
Of Scottish strength in modern 

day. 

XXIV 

The vale with loud applauses 

rang, 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the 

clang. 660 

The King, with look unmoved, be- 
stowed 
A purse well filled with pieces 

broad. 
Indignant smiled the Douglas 

proud, 
And threw the gold among the 

crowd, 
Who now with anxious wonder 

scan, 
And sharper glance, the dark gray 

man; 
Till whispers rose among the 

throng, 
That heart so free, and hand so 

strong, 
Must to the Douglas blood be- 
long. 
The old men marked and shook 

the head, 670 

To see his hair with silver spread ; 
And winked aside, and told each 

son 
Of feats upon the English done, 
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand 
Was exiled from his native land. 
The women praised his stately 

form, 



264 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Though wrecked by many a win- 
ter's storm ; 
The youth with awe and wonder 

saw 
His strength surpassing Nature's 

law. 
Thus judged, as is their wont, the 

crowd, 680 

Till murmurs rose to clamors 

loud. 
But not a glance from that proud 

ring 
Of peers who circled round the 

King 
With Douglas held communion 

kind, 
Or called the banished man to 

mind ; 
No, not from those who at the 

chase 
Once held his side the honored 

place, 
Begirt his board, and in the field 
Found safety underneath his 

shield ; 
For he whom royal eyes dis- 
own, 690 
When was his form to courtiers 

known ! 

XXV 

The Monarch saw the gambols 

flag, 
And bade let loose a gallant stag, 
Whose pride, the holiday to 

crown, 
Two favorite greyhounds should 

pull down, 
That venison free and Bourdeaux 

wine 
Might serve the archery to dine. 
But Luf ra, — whom from Douglas' 

side 
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er 

divide, 
The fleetest hound in all the 

North, — 700 

Brave Lufra saw, and darted 

forth. 
She left the royal hounds midway, 
And dashing on the antlered prey, 



Sunk her sharp muzzle in his 

flank, 
And deep the flowing life-blood 

drank. 
The king's stout huntsman saw 

the sport 
By strange intruder broken short, 
Came up, and with his leash un- 
bound 
In anger struck the noble hound. 
The Douglas had endured, that 

morn, 710 

The King's cold look, the nobles' 

scorn, 
And last, and worst to spirit proud. 
Had borne the pity of the crowd ; 
But Lufra had been fondly bred, 
To share his board, to watch his 

bed, 
And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck 
In maiden glee with garlands 

deck ; 
They were such playmates that 

with name 
Of Lufra Ellen's image came. 
His stifled wrath is brimming 

high, • 720 

In darkened brow and flashing 

eye; 
As waves before the bark divide, 
The crowd gave way before his 

stride ; 
Needs but a buffet and no more, 
The groom lies senseless in his 

gore. 
Such blow no other hand could 

deal, 
Though gauntleted in glove of 

steel. 

XXVI 

Then clamored loud the royal 

train, 
And brandished swords and staves 

amain, 
But stern the Baron's warning: 

' Back ! 730 

Back., on your lives, ye menial 

pack ! 
Beware the Douglas. — Yes ! be- 

hold, 



CAXTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT 



265 



King James ! The Douglas, doomed 

of old, 
And vainly sought for near and 

far, 
A victim to atone the war, 
A willing victim, now attends, 
Nor craves thy grace but for his 

friends.' — 
' Thus is my clemency repaid ? 
Presumptuous Lord!' the Mon- 
arch said; 739 
1 Of thy misproud ambitious clan. 
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the 

man, 
The only man, in whom a foe 
My woman-mercy would not 

know ; 
But shall a Monarch's presence 

brook 
Injurious blow and haughty 

look? — 
What ho ! the Captain of our 

Guard ! 
Give the offender fitting ward. — 
Break off the sports ! ' — for tu- 
mult rose, 
And yeomen 'gan to bend their 

bows, — 
' Break off the sports ! ' he said 

and frowned, 750 

' And bid our horsemen clear the 

ground.' 

XXVII 

Then uproar wild and misarray 
Marred the fair form of festal 

day. 
The horsemen pricked among the 

crowd, 
Kepelled by threats and insult 

loud; 
To earth are borne the old and 

weak, 
The timorous fly, the women 

shriek j 
With flint, with shaft, with staff, 

with bar, 
The hardier urge tumultuous war. 
At once round Douglas darkly 

sweep 760 

The royal spears in circle deep, 



And slowly scale the pathway 

steep, 
While on the rear in thunder pour 
The rabble with disordered roar. 
With grief the noble Douglas saw 
The Commons rise against the 

law, 
And to the leading soldier said : 
1 Sir John of Hyndford, 't was my 

blade, 
That knighthood on thy shoulder 

laid; 
For that good deed permit me 

then 770 

A word with these misguided 

men. — 

XXVIII 

' Hear, gentle friends, ere yet for 

me 
Ye break the bands of fealty. 
My life, my honor, and my cause, 
I tender free to Scotland's laws. 
Are these so weak as must re- 
quire 
The aid of your misguided ire ? 
Or if I suffer causeless wrong, 
Is then my selfish rage so strong, 
My sense of public weal so low, 780 
That, for mean vengeance on a 

foe, 
Those cords of love I should un- 
bind 
Which knit my country and my 

kind? 
no ! Believe, in yonder tower 
It will not soothe my captive 

hour, 
To know those spears, our foes 

should dread 
For me in kindred gore are red : 
To know, in fruitless brawl be- 
gun, 
For me that mother wails her son, 
For me that widow's mate ex- 
pires, 790 
For me that orphans weep their 

sires, 
That patriots mourn insulted laws, 
And curse the Douglas for the 
cause. 



266 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



let your patience ward such 

ill, 
And keep your right to love me 
still ! ' 

XXIX 

The crowd's wild fury sunk again 
In tears, as tempests melt in rain. 
With lifted hands and eyes, they 

prayed 
For blessings on his generous 

head 
Who for his country felt alone, 800 
And prized her blood beyond his 

own. 
Old men upon the verge of life 
Blessed him who stayed the civil 

strife ; 
And mothers held their babes on 

high, 
The self-devoted Chief to spy, 
Triumphant over wrongs and ire, 
To whom the prattlers owed a sire. 
Even the rough soldier's heart was 

moved ; 
As if behind some bier beloved, 
With trailing arms and drooping 

head, 810 

The Douglas up the hill he led, 
And at the Castle's battled verge, 
With sighs resigned his honored 

charge. 

XXX 

The offended Monarch rode apart, 
With bitter thought and swelling 

heart, 
And would not now vouchsafe 

again 
Through Stirling streets to lead 

his train. 

1 O Lennox, who would wish to rule 
This changeling crowd, this com- 
mon fool ? 

Hear'st thou,' he said, ' the loud ac- 
claim 820 

With which they shout the Doug- 
las name ? 

With like acclaim the vulgar 
throat 

Strained for King James their 
morning note ; 



With like acclaim they hailed the 

day 
When first I broke the Douglas 

sway; 
And like acclaim would Douglas 

greet 
If he could hurl me from my seat. 
Who o'er the herd would wish to 

reign, 828 

Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain? 
Vain as the leaf upon the stream, 
And fickle as a changeful dream ; 
Fantastic as a woman's mood, 
And fierce as Frenzy's fevered 

blood; 
Thou many-headed monster-thing, 

who would wish to be thy 

king ? — 

XXXI 

'But soft! what messenger of 

speed 
Spurs hitherward his panting 

steed? 

1 guess his cognizance afar — 
What from our cousin, John of 

Mar?' 

1 He prays, my liege, your sports 
keep bound 840 

Within the safe and guarded 
ground ; 

For some foul purpose yet un- 
known,— 

Most sure for evil to the throne,— 

The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick 
Dhu, 

Has summoned his rebellious 
crew; 

'T is said, in James of Bothwell's 
aid 

These loose banditti stand ar- 
rayed. 

The Earl of Mar this morn from 
Doune 

To break their muster marched, 
and soon 

Your Grace will hear of battle 
fought ; 850 

But earnestly the Earl besought, 

Till for such danger he provide, 

With scanty train you will not 
ride.' 



CANTO SIXTH: THE GUARD-ROOM 



267 



XXXII 

1 Thou warn'st me I have done 

amiss, — 
I should have earlier looked to 

this ; 
I lost it in this hustling day. — 
Retrace with speed thy former 

way ; 
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed, 
The best of mine shall be thy 

meed. 
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 860 
We do forbid the intended war ; 
Roderick this morn in single fight 
Was made our prisoner by a 

knight, 
And Douglas hath himself and 

cause 
Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
The tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve the mountain 

host, 
Nor would we that the vulgar feel, 
For their Chief's crimes, avenging 

steel. 869 

Bear Mar our message, Braco, fly ! ' 
He turned his steed, — 'Mv liege, 

I hie, 
Yet ere I cross this lily lawn 
I fear the broadswords will be 

drawn.' 
The turf the flying courser 

spurned, 
And to his towers the King re- 
turned. 

XXXIII 

111 with King James's mood that 

day 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; 
Soon were dismissed the courtly 

throng, 878 

And soon cut short the festal song. 
Nor less upon the saddened town 
The evening sunk in sorrow down. 
The burghers spoke of civil jar, 
Of rumored feuds and mountain 

war, 
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, 
All up in arms ; — the Douglas 

too, 



They mourned him pent within the 

hold, 
'Where stout Earl William was 

of old.' — 
And there his word the speaker 

stayed, 
And finger on his lip he laid, 
Or pointed to his dagger blade. 890 
But jaded horsemen from the west 
At evening to the Castle pressed, 
And busy talkers said they bore 
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore; 
At noon the deadly fray begun, 
And lasted till the set of sun. 
Thus giddy rumor shook the town, 
Till closed the Night her pennons 

brown. 



CANTO SIXTH 

THE GUARD-ROOM 
I. 

The sun, awakening, through the 
smoky air 
Of the dark city casts a sullen 
glance, 
Rousing each caitiff to his task of 
care, 
Of sinful man the sad inheri- 
tance ; 
Summoning revellers from the 
lagging dance, 
Scaring the prowling robber to 
his den ; 
Gilding on battled tower the ward- 
er's lance, 
And warning student pale to 
leave his pen, 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the 
kind nurse of men. 

What various scenes, and O, what 
scenes of woe, 10 

Are witnessed by that red and 
struggling beam ! 
The fevered patient, from his pal- 
let low, 
Through crowded hospital be- 
holds it stream ; 



268 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



The ruined maiden trembles at its 

gleam, 
The debtor wakes to thought of 

gyve and jail, 
The love-lorn wretch starts from 

tormenting dream ; 
The wakeful mother, by the 

glimmering pale, 
Trims her sick infant's couch, and 

soothes his feeble wail. 

ii 

At dawn the towers of Stirling 
rang 

With soldier -step and weapon- 
clang, 20 

"While drums with rolling note 
foretell 

Relief to weary sentinel. 

Through narrow loop and case- 
ment barred, 

The sunbeams sought the Court of 
Guard, 

And, struggling with the smoky 
air, 

Deadened the torches' yellow 
glare. 

In comfortless alliance shone 

The lights through arch of black- 
ened stone, 

And showed wild shapes in garb 
of war, 

Faces deformed with beard and 
scar, 3 c 

All haggard from the midnight 
watch, 

And fevered with the stern de- 
bauch ; 

For the oak table's massive board, 

Flooded with wine, with fragments 
stored, 

And beakers drained, and cups 
o'erthrown, 

Showed in what sport the night 
had flown. 

Some, weary, snored on floor and 
bench ; 

Some labored still their thirst to 
quench ; 

Some, chilled with watching, 
spread their hands 



O'er the huge chimney's dying 
brands, 40 

While round them, or beside them 
flung, 

At every step their harness rung. 

in 

These drew not for their fields the 
sword, 

Like tenants of a feudal lord, 

Nor owned the patriarchal claim 

Of Chieftain in their leader's 
name ; 

Adventurers they, from far who 
roved, 

To live by battle which they loved. 

There the Italian's clouded face, 

The swarthy Spaniard's there you 
trace ; 50 

The mountain-loving Switzer there 

More freely breathed in mountain- 
air; 

The Fleming there despised the 
soil 

That paid so ill the laborer's toil ; 

Their rolls showed French and 
German name ; 

And merry England's exiles came, 

To share, with ill-concealed dis- 
dain, 

Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 

All brave in arms, well trained to 
wield 

The heavy halberd, brand, and 
shield ; 60 

In camps licentious, wild, and 
bold; 

In pillage fierce and uncontrolled 

And now, by holytide and feast, 

From rules of discipline released. 

IV 

They held debate of bloody fray, 
Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and 

Achray. 
Fierce was their speech, and mid 

their words 
Their hands oft grappled to their 

swords ; 
Nor sunk their tone to spare the 

ear 



CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM 



169 



Of wounded comrades groaning 

near, 70 

Whose mangled limbs and bodies 

gored 
Bore token of the mountain sword, 
Though, neighboring to the Court 

of Guard, 
Their prayers and feverish wails 

were heard, — 
Sad burden to the ruffian joke, 
And savage oath by fury spoke ! — 
At length up started John of 

Brent, 
A yeoman from the banks of 

Trent ; 
A stranger to respect or fear, 
In peace a chaser of the deer, 80 
In host a hardy mutineer, 
But still the boldest of the crew 
When deed of danger was to do. 
He grieved that day their games 

cut short, 
And marred the dicer's brawling 

sport, 
And shouted loud, ' Renew the 

bowl ! 
And, while a merry catch I troll, 
Let each the buxom chorus bear, 
Like brethren of the brand and 

spear.' 



SOLDIER'S SOXG 

Our vicar still preaches that Peter 

and Poule 90 

Laid a swinging long curse on the 

bonny brown bowl, 
That there 's wrath and despair in 

the jolly black-jack, 
And the seven deadly sins in a 

flagon of sack ; 
Yet whoop, Barnaby ! off with thy 

liquor, 
Drink upsees out, and a fig for the 

vicar ! 

Our vicar he calls it damnation to 

sip 
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's 

dear lip, 



Says that Beelzebub lurks in her 

kerchief so sly, 
And Apollyon shoots darts from 

her merry black eye ; 
Yet whoop, Jack ! kiss Gillian the 

quicker, 100 

Till she bloom like a rose, and a 

fig for the vicar ! 

Our vicar thus preaches,— and 

why should he not ? 
For the dues of his cure are the 

placket and pot ; 
And 't is right of his office poor 

laymen to lurch 
Who infringe the domains of our 

good Mother Church. 
Yet whoop, bully-boys ! off with 

your liquor, 
Sweet Marjorie 's the word, and a 

fig for the vicar ! 

VI 

The warder's challenge, heard 

without, 
Stayed in mid - roar the merry 

shout. 
A soldier to the portal went, — no 
I ' Here is old Bertram, sirs, of 

Ghent ; 
And — beat for jubilee the drum ! — 
A maid and minstrel with him 

come.' 
Bertram, a Fleming, gray and 

scarred, 
Was entering now the Court of 

Guard, 
A harper with him, and, in plaid 
All muffled close, a mountain 

maid, 
Who backward shrunk to 'scape 

the view 
Of the loose scene and boisterous 

crew. 
'What news?' they roared : — ' I 

only know, 120 

From noon till eve we fought with 

foe, 
As wild and as untamable 
As the rude mountains where they 

dwell ; 



270 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



On both sides store of blood is 

lost, 
Nor much success can either 

boast.' — 

* But whence thy captives, friend ? 

such spoil 
As theirs must needs reward thy 

toil. 
Old dost thou wax, and wars grow 

sharp ; 
Thou now hast glee-maiden and 

harp! 
Get thee an ape, and trudge the 

land, 130 

The leader of a juggler band.' 

VII 

1 No, comrade ; — no such fortune 

mine. 
After the fight these sought our 

line, 
That aged harper and the girl, 
And, having audience of the Earl, 
Mar bade I should purvey them 

steed, 
And bring them hitherward with 

speed. 
Forbear your mirth and rude 

alarm, 
For none shall do them shame or 

harm. — ' 

* Hear ye his boast ? ' cried John 

of Brent, 140 

Ever to strife and jangling bent ; 
'Shall he strike doe beside our 

lodge, 
And yetthe jealous niggard grudge 
To pay the forester his fee ? 
I '11 have my share howe'er it 

be, 
Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee.' 
Bertram his forward step with- 
stood ; 
And, burning in his vengeful mood, 
Old Allan, though unfit for strife, 
Laid hand upon his dagger-knife ; 
But Ellen boldly stepped between, 
And dropped at once the tartan 
screen:— 152 

So, from his morning cloud, ap- 
pears 



The sun of May through summer 

tears. 
The savage soldiery, amazed, 
As on descended angel gazed ; 
Even hardy Brent, abashed and 

tamed, 
Stood half admiring, half ashamed. 

VIII 

Boldly she spoke: 'Soldiers, at- 
tend ! 
My father was the soldier's friend, 
Cheered him in camps, in marches 

led, 161 

And with him in the battle bled. 
Not from the valiant or the strong 
Should exile's daughter suffer 

wrong.' 
Answered De Brent, most forward 

still 
In every feat or good or ill : 
' I shame me of the part I played ; 
And thou an outlaw's child, poor 

maid ! 
An outlaw 1 by forest laws, 
And merry Needwood knows the 

cause. 170 

Poor Rose, — if Rose be living 

now,' — 
He wiped his iron eye and brow, — 
1 Must bear such age, I think, as 

thou. — ■ 
Hear ye, my mates ! I go to call 
The Captain of our watch to hall : 
There lies my halberd on the floor ; 
And he that steps my halberd 

o'er, 
To do the maid injurious part, 
My shaft shall quiver in his heart ! 
Beware loose speech, or jesting 

rough ; 180 

Ye all know John de Brent. 

Enough.' 

IX 

Their Captain came, a gallant 

young, — 
Of Tullibardine's house he 

sprung, — 
Nor wore he yet the spurs of 

knight ; 



CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM 



271 



Gay was liis mien, his humor 

light, 
And, though by courtesy con- 

trolled, 
Forward his speech, his bearing 

bold. 
The high-born maiden ill could 

brook 
The scanning of his curious look 
And dauntless eye : — and yet, in 

sooth, 190 

Young Lewis was a generous 

youth ; 
But Ellen's lovely face and mien, 
111 suited to the garb and scene, 
Might lightly bear construction 

strange, 
And give loose fancy scope to 

range. 
4 Welcome to Stirling towers, fair 

maid! 
Come ye to seek a champion's aid, 
On palfrey white, with harper 

hoar, 
Like errant damosel of yore? 
Does thy high quest a knight re- 
quire, 200 
Or may the venture suit a squire ? ; 
Her dark eye flashed ; — she 

paused and sighed : — 
' O what have I to do with pride ! — 
Through scenes of sorrow, shame, 

and strife, 
A suppliant for a father's life, 
I crave an audience of the King 
Behold, to back my suit, a ring, 
The royal pledge of grateful 

claims, 
Given by the Monarch to Fitz- 

James.' 

x 

The signet-ring young Lewis took 
With deep respect and altered 

look, 211 

And said : ' This ring our duties 

own ; 
And pardon, if to worth unknown, 
In semblance mean obscurely 

veiled, 
Lady, in aught my folly failed. 



Soon as the day flings wide his 

gates, 
The King shall know what suitor 

waits. 
Please you meanwhile in fitting 

bower 
Repose you till his waking hour ; 
Female attendance shall obey 220 
Your nest, for service or array. 
Permit I marshal you the way.' 
But, ere she followed, with the 

grace 
And open bounty of her race, 
She bade her slender purse be 

shared 
Among the soldiers of the guard. 
The rest with thanks their guerdon 

took, 
But Brent, with shy and awkward 

look, 
On the reluctant maiden's hold 
Forced bluntly back the proffered 

gold : 230 

1 Forgive a haughty English heart, 
And 0, forget its ruder part ! 
The vacant purse shall be my 

share, 
Which in my barret-cap I "11 bear, 
Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 
Where gayer crests may keep 

afar.' 
With thanks — 't was all she could 

— the maid 
His rugged courtesy repaid. 

XI 

When Ellen forth with Lewis went, 
Allan made suit to John of 

Brent : — 240 

' My lady safe, let your grace 
Give me to see my master's face ! 
His minstrel I, — to share his doom 
Bound from the cradle to the 

tomb. 
Tenth in descent, since first my 

sires 
Waked for his noble house their 

lyres, 
Nor one of all the race was known 
But prized its weal above their 

own. 



272 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



With the Chief's birth begins our 

care; 
Our harp must soothe the infant 

heir, 250 

Teach the youth tales of fight, and 

grace 
His earliest feat of field or chase ; 
In peace, in war, our rank we 

keep, 
We cheer his board, we soothe his 

sleep, 
Nor leave him till we pour our 

verse — 
A doleful tribute ! — o'er his 

hearse. 
Then let me share his captive lot; 
It is my right, — deny it not ! ' 
■ Little we reck,' said John of 

Brent, 
'We Southern men, of long de- 
scent; 260 
Nor wot we how a name— a 

word — 
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord : 
Yet kind my noble landlord's 

part, — 
God bless the house of Beaude- 

sert ! 
And, but I loved to drive the deer 
More than to guide the laboring 

steer, 
I had not dwelt an outcast here. 
Come, good old Minstrel, follow 

me; 
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou 

see.' 

XII 

Then, from a rusted iron hook, 270 

A bunch of ponderous keys he 
took, 

Lighted a torch, and Allan led 

Through grated arch and passage 
dread. 

Portals they passed, where, deep 
within, 

Spoke prisoner's moan and fetters' 
din; 

Through rugged vaults, where, 
loosely stored, 

Lay wheel, and axe, and heads- 
man's sword, 



And many a hideous engine grim, 
For wrenching joint and crushing 

limb, 
By artists formed who deemed it 

shame 280 

And sin to give their work a name. 
They halted at a low-browed porch, 
And Brent to Allan gave the torch, 
While bolt and chain he backward 

rolled, 
And made the bar unhasp its hold. 
They entered : — 't was a prison- 

room 
Of stern security and gloom, 
Yet not a dungeon ; for the day 
Through lofty gratings found its 

way, 289 

And rude and antique garniture 
Decked the sad walls and oaken 

floor, 
Such as the rugged days of old 
Deemed fit for captive noble's hold. 
4 Here,' said De Brent, ' thou mayst 

remain 
Till the Leech visit him again. 
Strict is his charge, the warders 

tell, 
To tend the noble prisoner well.' 
Retiring then the bolt he drew, 
And the lock's murmurs growled 

anew. 
Roused at the sound, from lowly 

bed 300 

A captive feebly raised his head ; 
The wondering Minstrel looked, 

and knew — 
Not his dear lord, but Roderick 

Dim ! 
For, come from where Clan-Alpine 

fought, 
They, erring, deemed the Chief he 

sought. 

XIII 

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 
Shall never stem the billows more, 
Deserted by her gallant band, 308 
Amid the breakers lies astrand, — 
So on his couch lay Roderick Dhu ! 
And oft his fevered limbs he threw 
In toss abrupt, as when her sides 



CANTO SIXTH: THE GUARD-ROOM 



73 



Lie rocking in the advancing tides, 
That shake her frame with cease- 
less beat, 
Yet cannot heave her from her 

seat ; — 
O, how unlike her course at sea ! 
Or his free step on hill and lea ! — 
Soon as the Minstrel he could 

scan,— 
'What of thy lady? — of my 

clan ? — 
My mother ? — Douglas ? — tell me 

all! 320 

Have they been ruined in my fall ? 
Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou 

here? 
Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do 

not fear.' 
For Allan, who his mood well 

knew, 
Was choked with grief and terror 

too. 
'Who fought? — who fled? — Old 

man, be brief; — 
Some might, — for they had lost 

their Chief. 
Who basely live? — who bravely 

died ? » 
' 0, calm thee, Chief ! ' the Minstrel 

cried, 
' Ellen is safe! ' ' For that thank 

Heaven!' 330 

4 And hopes are for the Douglas 

given; — 
The Lady Margaret, too, is well ; 
And, for thy clan, — on field or fell, 
Has never harp of minstrel told 
Of combat fought so true and bold. 
Thy stately Pine is yet unbent, 
Though many a goodly bough is 

rent.' 

XIV 

The Chieftain reared his form on 

high, 
And fever's fire was in his eye ; 
But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 
Checkered his swarthy brow and 

cheeks. 341 

' Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard 

thee play, 



With measure bold on festal day, 
In yon lone isle, — again where 

ne'er 
Shall harper play or warrior 

hear ! — 
That stirring air that peals on 

high, 
O'er Dermid's race our victory.— 
Strike it! — and then, — for well 

thou canst, — 
Free from thy minstrel-spirit 

glanced, 349 

Fling me the picture of the fight, 
When met my clan the Saxon 

might. 
I '11 listen, till my fancy hears 
The clang of swords, the crash of 

spears ! 
These grates, these walls, shall 

vanish then 
For the fair field of fighting men, 
And my free spirit burst away, 
As if it soared from battle fray.' 
The trembling Bard with awe 

obeyed,— 
Slow on the harp his hand he laid ; 
But soon remembrance of the 

sight 360 

He witnessed from the mountain's 

height, 
With what old Bertram told at 

night, 
Awakened the full power of song, 
And bore him in career along ; — 
As shallop launched on river's 

tide, 
That slow and fearful leaves the 

side, 
But, when it feels the middle 

stream, 
Drives downward swift as light- 
ning's beam. 

xv 

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DTJINE 

' The Minstrel came once more to 
view 369 

The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 
For ere he parted he would say 



274 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — 
Where shall he find, in foreign 

land, 
So lone a lake, so sweet a 
strand ! — 
There is no breeze upon the 
fern, 
No ripple on the lake, 
Upon her eyry nods the erne, 

The deer has sought the brake ; 
The small birds will not sing 

aloud, 379 

The springing trout lies still, 
So darkly glooms yon thunder- 
cloud, 
That swathes, as with a purple 
shroud, 
Benledi's distant hill. 
Is it the thunder's solemn sound 
That mutters deep and dread, 
Or echoes from the groaning 
ground 
The warrior's measured tread ? 
Is it the lightning's quivering 
glance 
That on the thicket streams, 
Or do they flash on spear and 
lance 390 

The sun's retiring beams ?— 
I see the dagger-crest of Mar, 
I see the Moray's silver star, 
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon 

war, 
That up the lake comes winding 
far! 
To hero boune for battle-strife, 

Or bard of martial lay, 
'T were worth ten years of 
peaceful life, 
One glance at their array ! 

XVI 

'Their light-armed archers far 
and near 4°° 

Surveyed the tangled ground, 
Their centre ranks, with pike 
and spear, 
A twilight forest frowned, 
Their barded horsemen in the 
rear 
The stern battalia crowned. 



No cymbal clashed, no clarion 
rang, 
Still were the pipe and drum ; 
Save heavy tread, and armor's 
clang, 
The sullen march was dumb. 
There breathed no wind their 
crests to shake, 410 

Or wave their flags abroad ; 
Scarce the frail aspen seemed 
to quake, 
That shadowed o'er their road. 
Their vaward scouts no tidings 
bring, 
Can rouse no lurking foe, 
Nor spy a trace of living thing, 
Save when they stirred the 
roe; 
The host moves like a deep-sea 

wave, 
Where rise no rocks its pride to 
brave, 
High-swelling, dark, and slow, 
The lake is passed, and now they 
gain 421 

A narrow and a broken plain, 
Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws ; 
And here the horse and spear- 
men pause, 
While, to explore the dangerous 

glen, 
Dive through the pass the archer- 
men. 

XVII 

' At once there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 
As all the fiends from heaven that 
fell 429 

Had pealed the banner-cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pass in tumult 

driven, 
Like chaff before the wind of 
heaven, 
The archery appear : 
For life! for life! their flight 

they ply — 
And shriek, and shout, and bat- 
tle-cry, 
And plaids and bonnets waving 
high, 



CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM 



2 7S 



And broadswords flashing to the 


They hurled them on the foe. 


*ky, 


I heard the lance's shivering crash, 


Are maddening in the rear. 


As when the whirlwind rends the 


Onward they .drive in dreadful 


ash ; 


race, 


I heard the broadsword's deadly 


Pursuers and pursued ; 440 


clang^ 


Before that tide of flight and 


As if a hundred anvils rang ! 


chase, 


But Moray wheeled his rearward 


How shall it keep its rooted 


rank 


place, 


Of horsemen on Clan - Alpine's 


The spearmen's twilight 


flank, — 470 


wood ? — 


" My banner-men, advance ! 


" Down, down," cried Mar, " your 


I see," he cried, "their column 


lances down ! 


shake. 


Bear back both friend and 


Now, gallants ! for your ladies' 


foe!" — 


sake, 


Like reeds before the tempest's 


Upon them with the lance ! " — 


frown, 


The horsemen dashed among 


That serried grove of lances 


the rout, 


brown 


As deer break through the 


At once lay levelled low ; 


broom ; 


And closely shouldering side to 


Their steeds are stout, their 


side, 


swords are out, 


The bristling ranks the onset 


They soon make lightsome 


bide.— 450 


room. 


"We'll quell the savage moun- 


Clan- Alpine's best are backward 


taineer, 


borne — 


As their Tinchel cows the 


Where, where was Roderick 


game ! 


then ! 480 


They come as fleet as forest 


One blast upon his bugle-horn 


deer, 


Were worth a thousand men. 


We '11 drive them back as 


And refluent through the pass 


tame." 


of fear 




The battle's tide was poured ; 


XVIII 


Vanished the Saxon's struggling 


'Bearing before them in their 


spear, 


course 


Vanished the mountain-sword. 


The relics of the archer force, 


As Bracklinn's chasm, so black 


Like wave with crest of sparkling 


and steep, 


foam, 


Receives her roaring linn, 


Right onward did Clan - Alpine 


As the dark caverns of the deep 


come. 


Suck the wild whirlpool in, 490 


Above the tide, each broadsword 


So did the deep and darksome pass 


bright 


Devour the battle's mingled mass; 


Was brandishing like beam of 


None linger now r upon the plain, 


light, 460 


Save those who ne'er shall fight 


Each targe was dark below; 


again. 


» And with the ocean's mighty 




swing, 


XIX 


When heaving to the tempest's 


' Now westward rolls the battle's 


wing, 


din, 



276 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



That deep and doubling pass with- 
in. — 
Minstrel, away ! the work of fate 
Is bearing on ; its issue wait, 
Where the rude Trosachs' dread 
defile 499 

Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. 
Gray Benvenue I soon repassed, 
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. 
The sun is set ; — the clouds are 
met, 
The lowering scowl of heaven 
An inky hue of livid blue 
To the deep lake has given ; 
Strange gusts of wind from moun- 
tain glen 
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk 

again. 
I heeded not the eddying surge, 
Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' 
gorge, 510 

Mine ear but heard that sullen 

sound, 
Which like an earthquake shook 

the ground, 
And spoke the stern and desperate 

strife 
That parts not but with parting 

life, 
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll 
The dirge of many a passing 
soul. 
Nearer it comes— the dim wood- 
glen 
The martial flood disgorged 
again, 
But not in mingled tide ; 
The plaided warriors of the 
North 520 

High on the mountain thunder 
forth 
And overhang its side, 
While by the lake below appears 
The darkening cloud of Saxon 

spears. 
At weary bay each shattered 

band, 
Eying their foemen, sternly 

stand ; 
Their banners stream like tat- 
tered sail, 



That flings its fragments to the 

gale, 
And broken arms and disarray 
Marked the fell havoc of the 

day. 



530 



xx 



'Viewing the mountain's ridge 

askance, 

The Saxons stood in sullen trance, 

Till Moray pointed with his lance, 

And cried : " Behold yon isle !— 

See ! none are left to guard its 

strand 
But women weak, that wring the 

hand : 
'T is there of yore the robber band 

Their booty wont to pile ; — 
My purse, with bonnet -pieces 

store, 539 

To him will swim a bow- shot 

o'er, 
And loose a shallop from the 

shore. 
Lightly we '11 tame the w r ar-wolf 

then, 
Lords of his mate, and brood, and 

den." 
Forth from the ranks a spearman 

sprung, 
On earth his casque and corselet 

rung, 
He plunged him in the wave : — 
All saw the deed, — the purpose 

knew, 
And to their clamors Benvenue 

A mingled echo gave; 
The Saxons shout, their mate to 

cheer, 550 

The helpless females scream for 

fear, 
And yells for rage the mountain- 
eer. 
'T was then, as by the outcry 

riven, 
Poured down at once the lowering 

heaven : 
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's 

breast, 
Her billows reared their snowy 

crest. 



CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM 



277 



Well for the swimmer swelled they 

high, 
To mar the Highland marksman's 

eye; 
For round him showered, mid rain 

and hail, 
The vengeful arrows of the Gael. 
In vain. — He nears the isle — and 

10! 561 

His hand is on a shallop's bow. 
Just then a flash of lightning 

came, 
It tinged the waves and strand 

with flame : 
I marked Duncraggan's widowed 

dame, 
Behind an oak I saw her stand, 
A naked dirk gleamed in her 

hand : — 
It darkened, — but amid the moan 
Of waves I heard a dying groan ; — 
Another flash ! — the spearman 

floats 570 

A weltering corse beside the boats, 
And the stern matron o'er him 

stood, 
Her hand and dagger streaming 

blood. 

XXI 

' " Revenge ! revenge ! " the Saxons 

cried, 
The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 
Despite the elemental rage, 
Again they hurried to engage ; 
But, ere they closed in desperate 

fight, 
Bloody with spurring came a 

knight, 
Sprung from his horse, and from 

a crag 580 

Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk- 
white flag. 
Clarion and trumpet by his side 
Pamg forth a truce-note high and 

wide, 
While, in the Monarch's name, 

afar 
A herald's voice forbade the war, 
For Bothwell's lord and Roderick 

bold 



Were both, he said, in captive 

hold,' — 
But here the lay made sudden 

stand, 
The harp escaped the Minstrel's 

hand! 
Oft had he stolen a glance, to 

spy 590 

How Roderick brooked his min- 
strelsy : 
At first, the Chieftain, to the 

chime, 
With lifted hand kept feeble 

time ; 
That motion ceased, — yet feeling 

strong 
Varied his look as changed the 

song; 
At length, no more his deafened 

ear 
The minstrel melody can hear ; 
His face grows sharp, —his hands 

are clenched, 
As if some pang his heart-strings 

wrenched ; 
Set are his teeth, his fading 

eye 600 

Is sternly fixed on vacancy ; 
Thus, motionless and moanless, 

drew 
His parting breath stout Roderick 

Dhu! — 
Old Allan-bane looked on aghast, 
While grim and still his spirit 

passed; 
But when he saw that life was 

fled, 
He poured his wailing o'er the 

dead. 

XXII 
LAMENT 

'And art thou cold and lowly 

laid, 
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's 

aid, 
Breadalbane's boast, Clan- Alpine's 

shade ! 610 

For thee shall none a requiem 

say ? — 



278 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



For thee, who loved the minstrel's 

lay, 
For thee, of BothwelPs house the 

stay, 
The shelter of her exiled line, 
E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
I '11 wail for Alpine's honored 

Pine! 

4 What groans shall yonder valleys 
fill! 

What shrieks of grief shall rend 
yon hill ! 

What tears of burning rage shall 
thrill, 

When mourns thy tribe thy bat- 
tles done, 620 

Thy fall before the race was won, 

Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun ! 

There breathes not clansman of 
thy line, 

But would have given his life for 
thine. 

O, woe for Alpine's honored Pine ! 

'Sad was thy lot on mortal 

stage ! — 
The captive thrush may brook the 

cage, 
The prisoned eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spirit, do not scorn my 

strain ! 
And, when its notes awake 

again, 630 

Even she, so long beloved in vain, 
Shall with my harp her voice com- 
bine, 
And mix her woe and tears with 

mine, 
To wail Clan -Alpine's honored 

Pine.' 

XXIII 

Ellen, the while, with bursting 

heart, 
Eemained in lordly bower apart, 
Where played, with many-colored 

gleams, 
Through storied pane the rising 

beams. 
In vain on gilded roof they fall, 



And lightened up a tapestried 

wall, 640 

And for her use a menial train 
A rich collation spread in vain. 
The banquet proud, the chamber 

gay, 
Scarce drew one curious glance 

astray ; 
Or if she looked, 't was but to say, 
With better omen dawned the day 
In that lone isle, where waved on 

high 
The dun-deer's hide for canopy ; 
Where oft her noble father shared 
The simple meal her care pre- 
pared, 650 
While Lufra, crouching by her 

side, 
Her station claimed with jealous 

pride, 
And Douglas, bent on woodland 

game, 
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm 

Graeme, 
Whose answer, oft at random 

made, 
The wandering of his thoughts be- 
trayed. 
Those who such simple joys have 

known 
Are taught to prize them when 

they 're gone. 
But sudden, see, she lifts her head, 
The window seeks with cautious 

tread. 660 

What distant music has the power 
To win her in this woful hour? 
'T was from a turret that o'er- 

hung 
Her latticed bower, the strain was 

sung. 

XXIV 

LAY OF THE IMPRISONED 
HUNTSMAN 

4 My hawk is tired of perch and 

hood, 
My idle greyhound loathes his 

food, 
My horse is weary of his stall, 



CANTO SIXTH : THE GUARD-ROOM 



279 



And I am sick of captive thrall. 
I wish I were as I have been, 
Hunting the hart in forest green, 
With bended bow and bloodhound 
free, 671 

For that 's the life is meet for me. 

4 1 hate to learn the ebb of time 
From yon dull steeple's drowsy 

chime, 
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, 
Inch after inch, along the wall. 
The lark was wont my matins 

ring, 
The sable rook my vespers sing, 
These towers, although a king's 

they be, 
Have not a hall of joy for me. 680 

' No more at dawning morn I rise, 
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, 
Drive the fleet deer the forest 

through, 
And homeward wend with evening 

dew ; 
A blithesome welcome blithely 

meet, 
And lay my trophies at her feet, 
While fled the eve on wing of 

glee,— 
That life is lost to love and me ! ' 

XXV 

The heart-sick lay was hardly 

said, 
The listener had not turned her 

head, 690 

It trickled still, the starting tear, 
When light a footstep struck her 

, ear, 
And Snowdoun's graceful Knight 

was near. 
She turned the hastier, lest again 
The prisoner should renew his 

strain. 
' O welcome, brave Fitz-James!' 

she said ; 
1 How may an almost orphan maid 
Pay the deep debt ' — * O say not 

so! 
To me no gratitude you owe. 



Not mine, alas ! the boon to give, 
And bid thy noble father live ; 701 
I can but be thy guide, sweet 

maid, 
With Scotland's King thy suit to 

aid. 
No tyrant he, though ire and pride 
May lay his better mood aside. 
Come, Ellen, come ! 't is more than 

time, 
He holds his court at morning 

prime.' 
With beating heart, and bosom 

wrung, 
As to a brother's arm she clung. 
Gently he dried the falling tear, 
And gently whispered hope and 

cheer; 711 

Her faltering steps half led, half 

stayed, 
Through gallery fair and high ar- 
cade, 
Till at his touch its wings of pride 
A portal arch unfolded wide. 

XXVI 

Within 't was brilliant all and 

light, 
A thronging scene of figures 

bright ; 
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight, 
As when the setting sun has given 
Ten thousand hues to summer 

even, 720 

And from their tissue fancy frames 
Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
Still by Fitz-James her footing 

staid ; 
A few faint steps she forward 

made, 
Then slow her drooping head she 

raised, 
And fearful round the presence 

gazed ; 
For him she sought who owned 

this state, 
The dreaded Prince whose will 

w r as fate ! — 
She gazed on many a princely port 
Might well have ruled a royal 

court ; 730 



28o 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



On many a splendid garb she 

gazed, — 
Then turned bewildered and 

amazed, 
For all stood bare; and in the 

room 
Fitz-James alone wore cap and 

plume. 
To him each lady's look was lent, 
On him each courtier's eye was 

bent ; 
Midst furs and silks and jewels 

sheen, 
He stood, in simple Lincoln green, 
The centre of the glittering ring, — 
And Snowdoun's Knight is Scot- 



land's King 



740 



XXVII 

As wreath of snow on mountain- 
breast 

Slides from the rock that gave it 
rest, 

Poor Ellen glided from her stay, 

And at the Monarch's feet she 
lay; 

No word her choking voice com- 
mands. 

She showed the ring, - she clasped 
her hands. 

O, not a moment could he brook, 

The generous Prince, that sup- 
pliant look ! 

Gently he raised her, — and, the 
while, 

Checked with a glance the circle's 
smile ; 750 

Graceful, but grave, her brow he 
kissed, 

And bade her terrors be dis- 
missed : — 

'Yes, fair; the wandering poor 
Fitz-James 

The fealty of Scotland claims. 

To him thy woes, thy wishes, 
bring ; 

He will redeem his signet ring, 

Ask naught for Douglas ; — yester 
even, 

His Prince and he have much for- 
given ; 



Wrong hath he had from slander- 
ous tongue, 759 

I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 

We would not, to the vulgar crowd, 

Yield what they craved with cla- 
mor loud ; 

Calmly we heard and judged his 
cause, 

Our council aided and our laws. 

I stanched thy father's death-feud 
stern 

With stout De Vaux and gray 
Glencairn ; 

And Bothwell's Lord henceforth 
we own 

The friend and bulwark of our 
throne. — 

But, lovely infidel, how now? 

What clouds thy misbelieving 
brow ? 770 

Lord James of Douglas, lend thine 
aid; 

Thou must confirm this doubting 
maid.' 

XXVIII 

Then forth the noble Douglas 

sprung, 
And on his neck his daughter 

hung. 
The Monarch drank, that happy 

hour, 
The sweetest, holiest draught of 

Power, — 
When it can say with godlike 

voice, 
Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 
Yet would not James the general 

eye 
On nature's raptures long should 

pry ; 780 

He stepped between — • Nay, 

Douglas, nay, 
Steal not my proselyte away ! 
The riddle 't is my right to read, 
That brought this happy chance 

to speed. 
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 
In life's more low but happier way, 
'T is under name which veils my 

power, 



CANTO SIXTH: THE GUARD-ROOM 



281 



Nor falsely veils, — for Stirling's 

tower 
Of yore the name of Snowdoun 

claims, 
And Normans call me James Fitz- 

James. 790 

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, 
Thus learn to right the injured 

cause.' 
Then, in a tone apart and low, — 
1 Ah, little traitress ! none must 

know 
What idle dream, what lighter 

thought, 
What vanity full dearly bought, 
Joined to thine eye's dark witch- 
craft, drew 
My spell-bound steps to Benve- 

nue 
In dangerous hour, and all but 

gave 
Thy Monarch's life to mountain 

glaive i ' 800 

Aloud he spoke : * Thou still dost 

hold 
That little talisman of gold, 
Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's 

ring, — 
What seeks fair Ellen of the King? ' 

XXIX 

Full well the conscious maiden 

guessed 
He probed the weakness of her 

breast ; 
But with that consciousness there 

came 
A lightening of her fears for 

Graeme, 
And more she deemed the Mon- 
arch's ire 
Kindled 'gainst him who for her 

sire 810 

Rebellious broadsword boldly 

drew; 
And, to her generous feeling 

true, 
She craved the grace of Roderick 

Dhu. 



' Forbear thy suit ; — the King of 

kings 
Alone can stay life's parting 

wings. 
I know his heart, I know his 

hand, 
Have shared his cheer, and proved 

his brand ; — 
My fairest earldom would I give 
To bid Clan - Alpine's Chieftain 

live!— 819 

Hast thou no other boon to crave ? 
No other captive friend to save ? ' 
Blushing, she turned her from the 

King, 
And to the Douglas gave the 

ring, 
As if she wished her sire to 

speak 
The suit that stained her glowing 

cheek. 
4 Nay, then, my pledge has lost its 

force, 
And stubborn justice holds her 

course. 
Malcolm, come forth ! ' — and, at 

the word, 
Down kneeled the Graeme to Scot- 
land's Lord. 
1 For thee, rash youth, no suppliant 

sues, 830 

From thee may Vengeance claim 

her dues, 
Who, nurtured underneath our 

smile, 
Hast paid our care by treacherous 

wile, 
And sought amid thy faithful clan 
A refuge for an outlawed man, 
Dishonoring thus thy loyal name. — 
Fetters and warder for the 

Graeme ! ' 
His chain of gold the King un- 
strung, 
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he 

flung, 
Then gently drew the glittering 

band, 840 

And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand. 



282 THE LADY OF THE LAKE 



Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow dark, 

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark, 

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending. 
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending, 

And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ; 
Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending, 

With distant echo from the fold and lea, 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. 850 

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp ! 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, 
And little reck I of the censure sharp 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 
Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 

Through secret woes the world has never known, 
When on the weary night dawned wearier day, 

And bitterer was the grief devoured alone. — 
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress ! is thine own. 

Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 860 

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ! 
'T is now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 

'T is now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. 
Receding now, the dying numbers ring 

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell ; 
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 

A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — 
And now 't is silent all ! — Enchantress, fare thee well ! 



INTRODUCTION 



2S3 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris. 
Vox humana valet ! — Claudian. 



TO 

JOHN WHITMORE, ESQ., 

AND TO THE 

COMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF THE 

PORTUGUESE SUFFERERS, 



IN WHICH HE PRESIDES, 

THIS POEM, 

THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, 

COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND UNDER THEIR 

MANAGEMENT, 

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY 

WALTER SCOTT 



INTRODUCTION 



Lives there a strain whose 
sounds of mounting fire 
May rise distinguished o'er the 
din of war ; 
Or died it with yon Master of 
the Lyre, 
Who sung beleaguered Ilion's 
evil star ? 
Such, Wellington, might 
reach thee from afar, 
Wafting its descant wide o'er 
Ocean's range ; 
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, 
its mood could mar, 
All as it swelled 'twixt each 
loud trumpet-change, 
That clangs to Britain victory, to 
Portugal revenge ! 



11 
Yes ! such a strain, with all o'er- 
powering measure, 10 

Might melodize with each tu- 
multuous sound, 
Each voice of fear or triumph, 
woe or pleasure, 
That rings Mondego's ravaged 
shores around ; 
The thundering cry of hosts with 
conquest crowned, 
The female shriek, the ruined 
peasant's moan, 
The shout of captives from their 
chains unbound, 
The foiled oppressor's deep 
and sullen groan, 
A Nation's choral hymn for tyr- 
anny o'erthrowii; 



284 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



in 
But we, weak minstrels of a lag- 
gard day, 
Skilled but to imitate an elder 
page, 20 

Timid and raptureless, can we 
repay 
The debt thou claim'st in this 
exhausted age ? 
Thou givest our lyres a theme, 
that might engage 
Those that could send thy 
name o'er sea and land, 
While sea and land shall last; 
for Homer's rage 
A theme ; a theme for Milton's 
mighty hand — 
How much unmeet for us, a faint 
degenerate band ! 



IV 

Ye mountains stern ! within 
whose rugged breast 
The friends of Scottish free- 
dom found repose ; 
Ye torrents! whose hoarse 
sounds have soothed their 
rest, 30 

Returning from the field of 
vanquished foes : 
Say, have ye lost each wild ma- 
jestic close, 
That erst the choir of Bards or 
Druids flung; 
What time their hymn of victory 
arose, 
And Cattraeth's glens with 
voice of triumph rung, 
And mystic Merlin harped, and 
gray-haired Lly warch sung ? 



O, if your wilds such minstrelsy 
retain, 
As sure your changeful gales 
seem oft to say, 
When sweeping wild and sink- 
ing soft again, 
Like trumpet-jubilee or harp's 
wild sway ; 40 



If ye can echo such triumphant 
lay, 
Then lend the note to him has 
loved you long ! 
Who pious gathered each tradi- 
tion gray, 
That floats your solitary 
wastes along, 
And with affection vain gave them 
new voice in song. 

VI 

For not till now, how oft soe'er 
the task 
Of truant verse hath lightened 
graver care, 
From Muse or Sylvan was he 
wont to ask, 
In phrase poetic, inspiration 
fair ; 
Careless he gave his numbers to 
the air, 50 

They came unsought for, if 
applauses came ; 
Nor for himself prefers he now 
the prayer : 
Let but his verse befit a hero's 
fame, 
Immortal be the verse ! — forgot 
the poet's name ! 

VII 

Hark, from yon misty cairn their 
answer tost : 
'Minstrel! the fame of whose 
romantic lyre, 
Capricious - swelling now, may 
soon be lost, 
Like the light flickering of a 
cottage fire ; 
If to such task presumptuous 
thou aspire 
Seek not from us the meed to 
warrior due : 60 

Age after age has gathered son 
to sire, 
Since our gray cliffs the din of 
conflict knew, 
Or, pealing through our vales, vic- 
torious bugles blew. 



INTRODUCTION 



285 



VIII 

1 Decayed our old traditionary 
lore, 
Save where the lingering fays 
renew their ring, 
By milkmaid seen beneath the 
hawthorn hoar, 
Or round the marge of Minch- 
more's haunted spring; 
Save where their legends gray- 
haired shepherds sing, 
That now scarce win a listen- 
ing ear but thine, 
Of feuds obscure and Border 
ravaging, 7° 

And rugged deeds recount in 
rugged line 
Of moonlight foray made on Te- 
viot, Tweed, or Tyne. 

IX 

' Xo ! search romantic lands, 
where the near Sun 
Gives with unstinted boon 
ethereal flame, 
Where the rude villager, his la- 
bor done, 
In verse spontaneous chants 
some favored name, 
Whether Olalia's charms his 
tribute claim, 
Her eye of diamond and her 
locks of jet, 
Or whether, kindling at the 
deeds of Graeme, 
He sings, to wild Morisco mea- 
sure set, 80 
Old Albin's red claymore, green 
Erin's bayonet ! 



1 Explore those regions, where 

the flinty crest 
Of wild Nevada ever gleams 

with snows, 
Where in the proud Alhambra's 

ruined breast 
Barbaric monuments of pomp 

repose ; 
Or where the banners of more 

ruthless foes 



Than the tierce Moor float o'er 
Toledo's fane, 
From whose tall towers even 
now the patriot throws 
An anxious glance, to spy 
upon the plain 
The blended ranks of England, 
Portugal, and Spain. 90 



XI 

f There, of Numantian fire a 
swarthy spark 
Still lightens in the sunburnt 
native's eye; 
The stately port, slow step, and 
visage dark 
Still mark enduring pride and 
constancy. 
And, if the glow of feudal chiv- 
alry 
Beam not, as once, thy nobles' 
dearest pride, 
Iberia 2 oft thy crestless peas- 
antry 
Have seen the plumed Hidalgo 
quit their side, 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 
'gainst fortune fought aud 
died. 



XII 

1 And cherished still by that un- 
changing race, 100 
Are themes for minstrelsy 
more high than thine ; 
Of strange tradition many a 
mystic trace, 
Legend and vision, prophecy 
and sign ; 
Where wonders wild of Ara- 
besque combine 
With Gothic imagery of darker 
shade, 
Forming a model meet for min- 
strel line. 
Go, seek such theme."— The 
Mountain Spirit said : 
With filial awe I heard — I heard, 
and I obeyed. 



286 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



THE VISION OF DON ROD- 
ERICK 



Rearing their crests amid the 
cloudless skies, 
And darkly clustering in the 
pale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy towers and spires 
arise, 
As from a trembling lake of 
silver white. 
Their mingled shadows inter- 
cept the sight 
Of the broad burial-ground 
outstretched below, 
And naught disturbs the silence 
of the night ; 
All sleeps in sullen shade, or 
silver glow, 
All save the heavy swell of Teio's 
ceaseless flow. 

n 

All save the rushing swell of 
Teio's tide, 10 

Or, distant heard, a courser's 
neigh or tramp, 
Their changing rounds as watch- 
ful horsemen ride, 
To guard the limits of King 
Roderick's camp. 
For, through the river's night- 
fog rolling damp, 
Was many a proud pavilion 
dimly seen, 
Which glimmered back, against 
the moon's fair lamp, 
Tissues of silk and silver 
twisted sheen, 
And standards proudly pitched, 
and warders armed between. 

in 
But of their monarch's person 
keeping ward, 
Since last the deep-mouthed 
bell of vespers tolled, 20 
The chosen soldiers of the royal 
guard 
The post beneath the proud 
cathedral hold : 



A band unlike their Gothic sires 
of old, 
Who, for the cap of steel and 
iron mace, 
Bear slender darts and casques 
bedecked with gold, 
While silver-studded belts their 
shoulders grace, 
Where ivory quivers ring in the 
broad falchion's place. 

IV 

In the light language of an idle 
court, 
They murmured at their mas- 
ter's long delay, 
And held his lengthened orisons 
in sport: 30 

'What! will Don Roderick 
here till morning stay, 
To wear in shrift and prayer the 
night away ? 
And are his hours in such dull 
penance past, 
For fair Florinda's plundered 
charms to pay ? ' 
Then to the east their weary 
eyes they cast, 
And wished the lingering dawn 
would glimmer forth at last. 



But, far within, Toledo's prelate 
lent 
An ear of fearful wonder to 
the king ; 
The silver lamp a fitful lustre 
sent, 
So long that sad confession 
witnessing : 40 

For Roderick told of many a hid- 
den thing, 
Such as are lothly uttered to 
the air, 
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame 
the bosom wring, 
And Guilt his secret burden 
cannot bear, 
And Conscience seeks in speech a 
respite from Despair. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



287 



VI 

Full on the prelate's face and 
silver hair 
The stream of failing light was 
feebly rolled ; 
But Roderick's visage, though 
his head was bare, 
Was shadowed by his hand and 
mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the 
sins he told, 50 

Proud Alaric's descendant 
could not brook 
That mortal man his bearing 
should behold, 
Or boast that he had seen, 
when conscience shook, 
Fear tame a monarch's brow, re- 
morse a w r arrior's look. 



VII 

The old man's faded cheek 
waxed yet more pale, 
As many a secret sad the king 
bewrayed ; 
As sign and glance eked out the 
unfinished tale, 
When in the midst his faltering 
whisper staid. — 
4 Thus royal Witiza was slain,' 
he said ; 
* Yet, holy father, deem not it 
was L" 60 

Thus still Ambition strives her 
crimes to shade. — 
' O, rather deem 't was stern 
necessity! 
Self-preservation bade, and I must 
kill or die. 



VIII 

'And if Florinda's shrieks 
alarmed the air, 
If she invoked her absent sire 
in vain 
And on her knees implored that 
I would spare, 
Yet, reverend priest, thy sen- 
tence rash refrain ! 



All is not as it seems — the 
female train 
Know by their bearing to dis- 
guise their mood : ' — 
But Conscience here, as if in high 
disdain. 70 

Sent to the Monarch's cheek 
the burning blood — 
He stayed his speech abrupt — and 
up the prelate stood. 

IX 

1 hardened offspring of an iron 
race! 
What of thy crimes, Don Rod- 
erick, shall I say ? 
What alms or prayers or penance 
can efface 
Murder's dark spot, wash 
treason's stain away ! 
For the foul ravisher how shall 
I pray, 
Who, scarce repentant, makes 
his crime his boast? 
How hope Almighty vengeance 
shall delay, 
Unless, in mercy to yon Chris- 
tian host, 80 
He spare the shepherd lest the 
guiltless sheep be lost* 



Then kindled the dark tyrant in 
his mood, 
And to his brow returned its 
dauntless gloom ; 
' And welcome then,' he cried, 
' be blood for blood, 
For treason treachery, for dis- 
honor doom ! 
Yet will I know whence come 
they or by whom, 
Show, for thou canst — give 
forth the fated key, 
And guide me, priest, to that 
mysterious room 
Where, if aught true in old 
tradition be, 
His nation's future fates a Spanish 
king shall see.' go 



;88 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



XI 

* Ill-fated Prince ! recall the de- 
sperate word, 
Or pause ere yet the omen thou 
obey ! 
Bethink, yon spell-bound portal 
would afford 
Never to former monarch en- 
trance-way ; 
Nor shall it ever ope, old records 
say, 
Save to a king, the last of all 
his line, 
What time his empire totters to 
decay, 
And treason digs beneath her 
fatal mine, 
And high above impends avenging 
wrath divine.' — 

XII 

4 Prelate ! a monarch's fate 
brooks no delay ; ioo 

Lead on ! ' — The ponderous 
key the old man took, 
And held the winking lamp, and 
led the way, 
By winding stair, dark aisle, 
and secret nook, 
Then on an ancient gateway 
bent his look; 
And, as the key the desperate 
king essayed, 
Low muttered thunders the 
cathedral shook, 
And twice he stopped and 
twice new effort made, 
Till the huge bolts rolled back and 
the loud hinges brayed. 

XIII 

Long, large, and lofty was that 

vaulted hall ; 
Roof, walls, and floor were all 

of marble stone, no 

Of polished marble, black as 

funeral pall, 
Carved o'er with signs and 

characters unknown. 
A paly light, as of the dawning, 

shone 



Through the sad bounds, but 
whence they could not spy, 
For window to the upper air was 
none ; 
Yet by that light Don Roder- 
ick could descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then were 
seen by mortal eye. 

XIV 

Grim sentinels, against the up- 
per wall, 
Of molten bronze, two Statues 
held their place ; 
Massive their naked limbs, their 
stature tall, 120 

Their frowning foreheads 
golden circles grace. 
Moulded they seemed for kings 
of giant race, 
That lived and sinned before 
the avenging flood ; 
This grasped a scythe, that 
rested on a mace ; 
This spread his wings for flight, 
that pondering stood, 
Each stubborn seemed and stern, 
immutable of mood. 

xv 

Fixed was the right-hand giant's 
brazen look 
Upon his brother's glass of 
shifting sand, 
As if its ebb he measured by a 
book, 
Whose iron volume loaded his 
huge hand; 130 

In which was wrote of many a 
fallen land, 
Of empires lost, and kings to 
exile driven : 
And o'er that pair their names 
in scroll expand — 
4 Lo, Destiny and Time ! to 
whom by Heaven 
The guidance of the earth is for a 
season given.' — 

XVI 

Even while they read, the sand- 
glass wastes away ; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



»8q 



And, as the last and lagging 
grains did creep, 
That right hand giant 'gan his 
club upsway, 
As one that startles from a 
heavy sleep. 
Full on the upper wall the mace's 
sweep 140 

At once descended with the 
force of thunder, 
And, hurtling down at once in 
crumbled heap, 
The marble boundary was rent 
asunder, 
And gave to Roderick's view new 
sights of fear and wonder. 

XVII 

For they might spy beyond that 
mighty breach 
Realms as of Spain in visioned 
prospect laid, 
Castles and towers, in due pro- 
portion each, 
As by some skilful artist's 
hand portrayed : 
Here, crossed by many a wild 
Sierra's shade 
And boundless plains that tire 
the traveller's eye ; 150 

There, rich with vineyard and 
with olive glade, 
Or deep-embrowned by forests 
huge and high, 
Or washed by mighty streams that 
slowly murmured by. 

XVIII 

And here, as erst upon the an- 
tique stage 
Passed forth the band of mas- 
quers trimly led, 
In various forms and various 
equipage, 
While fitting strains the hear- 
er's fancy fed ; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in or- 
der spread, 
Successive pageants filled that 
mystic scene, 
Showing the fate of battles ere 
they bled, 160 



And issue of events that had 
not been ; 
And ever and anon strange sounds 
were heard between. 

XIX 

First shrilled an unrepeated fe- 
male shriek ! — 
It seemed as if Don Roderick 
knew the call, 
For the bold blood was blanch- 
ing in his cheek. — 
Then answered kettle-drum 
and atabal, 
Gong-peal and cymbal- clank the 
ear appall, 
The Tecbir war-cry and the 
Lelie's yell 
Ring wildly dissonant along the 
hall. 
Needs not to Roderick their 
dread import tell — 170 

The Moor ! ' he cried, ' the Moor ! — 
ring out the tocsin bell ! 

xx 

' They come ! they come ! I see 
the groaning lands 
White with the turbans of 
each Arab horde ; 
Swart Zaarah joins her misbe- 
lieving bands, 
Alia and Mahomet their bat- 
tle-word, 
The choice they yield, the Koran 
or the sword. — 
See how the Christians rush to 
arms amain! — 
In yonder shout the voice of con- 
flict roared, 
The shadowy hosts are closing 
on the plain — 
Now, God and Saint Iago strike 
for the good cause of Spain ! 

XXI 

1 By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! 

the Christians yield ! 18 1 
Their coward leader gives for 

flight the sign ! 
The sceptred craven mounts 

to quit the field — 






200 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



Is not yon steed Orelia? — 
Yes, 't is mine ! 
But never was she turned from 
battle-line : 
Lo ! where the recreant spurs 
o'er stock and stone ! — 
Curses pursue the slave, and 
wrath divine ! 
Rivers ingulf him P — 'Hush,' 
in shuddering tone, 
The prelate said; 'rash prince, 
yon visioned form's thine 
own.' 

XXII 

Just then, a torrent crossed the 
flier's course ; 190 

The dangerous ford the kingly 
likeness tried ; 
But the deep eddies whelmed 
both man and horse, 
Swept like benighted peasant 
down the tide ; 
And the proud Moslemah spread 
far and wide, 
As numerous as their native 
locust band ; 
Berber and IsmaePs sons the 
spoils divide, 
With naked scimitars mete out 
the land, 
And for the bondsmen base the 
freeborn natives brand. 

XXIII 

Then rose the grated Harem, to 
enclose 
The loveliest maidens of the 
Christian line ; 200 

Then, menials, to their misbe- 
lieving foes 
Castile's young nobles held for- 
bidden wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salva- 
tion's sign, 
By impious hands was from 
the altar thrown, 
And the deep aisles of the pol- 
luted shrine 
Echoed, for holy hymn and or- 
gan-tone, 
The Santon's frantic dance, the 
Fakir's gibbering moan. 



XXIV 

How fares Don Roderick? — 
E'en as one who spies 
Flames dart their glare o'er 
midnight's sable woof, 
And hears around his children's 
piercing cries, 210 

And sees the pale assistants 
stand aloof ; 
While cruel Conscience brings 
him bitter proof 
His folly or his crime have 
caused his grief ; 
And while above him nods the 
crumbling roof, 
He curses earth and Heaven 
— himself in chief — 
Desperate of earthly aid, despair- 
ing Heaven's relief ! 

XXV 

That scythe-armed Giant turned 
his fatal glass 
And twilight on the landscape 
closed her wings ; 
Far to Asturian hills the war- 
sounds pass, 
And in their stead rebeck or 
timbrel rings ; 220 

And to the sound the bell-decked 
dancer springs, 
Bazars resound as when their 
marts are met, 
In tourney light the Moor his 
jerrid flings, 
And on the land as evening 
seemed to set, 
The Imaum's chant was heard 
from mosque or minaret. 

XXVI 

So passed that pageant. Ere 
another came 
The visionary scene was 
wrapped in smoke, 
Whose sulphurous wreaths were 
crossed by sheets of flame ; 
With every flash a bolt explo- 
sive broke, 
Till Roderick deemed the fiends 
had burst their yoke 230 
And waved 'gainst heaven the 
infernal gonfalone ! 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



291 



For War a new and dreadful lan- 
guage spoke, 
Never by ancient warrior 
heard or known ; 
Lightning and smoke her breath, 
and thunder was her tone. 

XXVII 

From the dim landscape roll the 
clouds away — 
The Christians have regained 
their heritage ; 
Before the Cross has waned the 
Crescent's ray, 
And many a monastery decks 
the stage, 
And lofty church, and low- 
browed hermitage. 
The land obeys a Hermit and 
a Knight,— 240 

The Genii these of Spain for 
many an age ; 
This clad in sackcloth, that in 
armor bright, 
And that was Valor named, this 
Bigotry was hight. 

XXVIII 

Valor was harnessed like a 
chief of old, 
Armed at all points, and 
prompt for knightly gest ; 
His sword was tempered in the 
Ebro cold, 
Morena's eagle plume adorned 
his crest, 
The spoils of Afric's lion bound 
his breast. 
Fierce he stepped forward and 
flung down his gage ; 
As if of mortal kind to brave the 
best. 250 

Him followed his companion, 
dark and sage 
As he my Master sung, the dan- 
gerous Archimage. 

XXIX 

Haughty of heart and brow the 
warrior came. 



In look and language proud 
as proud might be, 
Vaunting his lordship, lineage, 
fights, and fame : 
Yet was that barefoot monk 
more proud than he ; 
And as the ivy climbs the tallest 
tree, 
So round the loftiest soul his 
toils he wound, 
And with his spells subdued the 
fierce and free. 
Till ermined Age and Youth in 
arms renowned, 260 

Honoring his scourge and hair- 
cloth, meekly kissed the 
ground. 

XXX 

And thus it chanced that Valor, 
peerless knight, 
Who ne'er to king or Kaiser 
veiled his crest, 
Victorious still in bull-feast or in 
fight, 
Since first his limbs with mail 
he did invest, 
Stooped ever to that anchoret's 
behest ; 
Nor reasoned of the right nor 
of the wrong, 
But at his bidding laid the lance 
in rest, 
And wrought fell deeds the 
troubled world along, 
For he was fierce as brave and 
pitiless as strong. 270 

XXXI 

Oft his proud galleys sought 
some new-found world, 
That latest sees the sun or 
first the morn ; 
Still at that wizard's feet their 
spoils he hurled,— 
Ingots of ore from rich Potosi 
borne, 
Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes 
by Omrahs worn, 
Wrought of rare gems, but 
broken, rent, and foul ; 



292 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



Idols of gold from heathen tem- 
ples torn, 
Bedabbled all with blood.— 
With grisly scowl 
The hermit marked the stains and 
smiled beneath his cowl. 

XXXII 

Then did he bless the offering, 
and bade make 280 

Tribute to Heaven of grati- 
tude and praise ; 
And at his word the choral 
hymns awake, 
And many a hand the silver 
censer sways, 
But with the incense - breath 
these censers raise 
Mix steams from corpses 
smouldering in the fire ; 
The groans of prisoned victims 
mar the lays, 
And shrieks of agony con- 
found the quire ; 
While, 'mid the mingled sounds, 
the darkened scenes expire. 

XXXIII 

Preluding light, were strains of 
music heard, 
As once again revolved that 
measured sand ; 290 

Such sounds as when, for sylvan 
dance prepared, 
Gay Xeres summons forth her 
vintage band ; 
When for the light bolero ready 
stand 
The mozo blithe, with gay mu- 
chacha met, 
He conscious of his broidered 
cap and band, 
She of her netted locks and 
light corsette, 
Each tiptoe perched to spring and 
shake the castanet. 

XXXIV 

And well such strains the open- 
ing scene became ; 
For Valok had relaxed his 
ardent look, 



And at a lady's feet, like lion 
tame, 300 

Lay stretched, full loath the 
weight of arms to brook ; 
And softened Bigotry upon his 
book 
Pattered a task of little good 
or ill : 
But the blithe peasant plied his 
pr uning-hook, 
Whistled the muleteer o'er 
vale and hill, 
And rung from village-green the 
merry seguidille. 

XXXV 

Gray Royalty, grown impotent 
of toil, 
Let the grave sceptre slip his 
lazy hold ; 
And careless saw his rule be- 
come the spoil 
Of a loose female and her min- 
ion bold. 310 
But peace was on the cottage 
and the fold, 
From court intrigue, from bick- 
ering faction far; 
Beneath the chestnut-tree love's 
tale was told, 
And to the tinkling of the light 
guitar 
Sweet stooped the western sun, 
sweet rose the evening star. 

XXXVI 

As that sea-cloud, in size like hu- 
man hand 
When first from Carmel by the 
Tishbite seen, 
Came slowly overshadowing 
Israel's land, 
Awhile perchance bedecked 
with colors sheen, 
While yet the sunbeams on its 
skirts had been, 320 

Limning with purple and with 
gold its shroud, 
Till darker folds obscured the 
blue serene 
And blotted heaven with one 
broad sable cloud. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



293 



Then sheeted rain burst down and 
whirlwinds howled aloud : — 

XXXVII 

Even so, upon that peaceful 
scene was poured, 
Like gathering clouds, full 
many a foreign band, 
And He, their leader, wore in 
sheath his sword, 
And offered peaceful front 
and open hand, 
Veiling the perjured treachery 
he planned, 
By friendship's zeal and 
honor's specious guise, 330 
Until he won the passes of the 
land ; 
Then burst w r ere honor's oath 
and friendship's ties ! 
He clutched his vulture grasp and 
called fair Spain his prize. 

XXXYIII 

An iron crown his anxious fore- 
head bore : 
And well such diadem his 
heart became 
Who ne'er his purpose for re- 
morse gave o'er, 
Or checked his course for 
piety or shame ; 
Who, trained a soldier, deemed 
a soldier's fame 
Might flourish in the wreath of 
battles won, 
Though neither truth nor honor 
decked his name ; 340 

Who, placed by fortune on a 
monarch's throne, 
Recked not of monarch's faith or 
mercy's kingly tone. 

XXXIX 

From a rude isle his ruder lin- 
eage came : 
The spark that, from a suburb- 
hovel's hearth 

Ascending, wraps some capital 
in flame, 



Hath not a meaner or more 
sordid birth. 
And for the soul that bade him 
waste the earth — 
The sable land-flood from some 
swamp obscure, 
That poisons the glad husband- 
field with dearth, 
And by destruction bids its 
fame endure, 350 

Hath not a source more sullen, 
stagnant, and impure. 

XL 

Before that leader strode a shad- 
owy form ; 
Her limbs like mist, her torch 
like meteor showed, 
With which she beckoned him 
through fight and storm, 
And all he crushed that 
crossed his desperate road, 
Xor thought, nor feared, nor 
looked on what he trode. 
Realms could not glut his 
pride, blood could not slake, 
So oft as e'er she shook her 
torch abroad : 
It was Ambition bade his 
terrors wake, 
Xor deigned she, as of yore, a 
milder form to take. 360 

xli 

No longer now T she spurned at 
mean revenge, 
Or staid her hand for con- 
quered foeman's moan, 
As when, the fates of aged Rome 
to change, 
By Caesar's side she crossed 
the Rubicon. 
Nor joyed she to bestow the 
spoils she won, 
As when the banded powers 
of Greece were tasked 
To war beneath the Youth of 
Macedon : 
No seemly veil her modern 
minion asked. 



294 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



He saw her hideous face and 
"loved the fiend unmasked. 

XLII 

That prelate marked his march 
— on banners blazed 370 
With battles won in many a 
distant land, 
On eagle-standards and on arms 
he gazed ; 
'And hopest thou, then,' he 
said, ' thy power shall stand ? 
O, thou hast builded on the 
shifting sand 
And thou hast tempered it 
with slaughter's flood; 
And know, fell scourge in the 
Almighty's hand, 
Gore-moistened trees shall per- 
ish in the bud, 
And by a bloody death shall die 
the Man of Blood ! ' 

XLIII 

The ruthless leader beckoned 
from his train 
A wan fraternal shade, and 
bade him kneel, 380 

And paled his temples with the 
crown of Spain, 
While trumpets rang and her- 
alds cried ' Castile ! ' 
Not that he loved him — No ! — 
In no man's weal, 
Scarce in his own, e'er joyed 
that sullen heart ; 
Yet round that throne he bade 
his warriors wheel, 
That the poor puppet might 
perform his part 
And be a sceptred slave, at his 
stern beck to start. 

xliv 

But on the natives of that land 
misused 
Not long the silence of amaze- 
ment hung, 
Nor brooked they long their 
friendly faith abused ; 390 
For with a common shriek the 
general tongue 



Exclaimed, ' To arms ! ' and fast 
to arms they sprung. 
And Valor woke, that Genius 
of the land ! 
Pleasure and ease and sloth 
aside he flung, 
As burst the awakening Naza- 
rite his band 
When 'gainst his treacherous foes 
he clenched his dreadful 
hand. 

XLV 

That mimic monarch now cast 
anxious eye 
Upon the satraps that begirt 
him round, 
Now doffed his royal robe in act 
to fly, 
And from his brow the diadem 
unbound. 400 

So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle 
wound, 
From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's 
mountains blown, 
These martial satellites hard 
labor found, 
To guard awhile his substi- 
tuted -throne; 
Light recking of his cause, but 
battling for their own. 

XLV I 

From Alpuhara's peak that bu- 
gle rung, 
And it was echoed from Co- 
runna's wall ; 
Stately Seville responsive war- 
shout flung, 
Grenada caught it in her 
Moorish hall ; 
Galicia bade her children fight 
or fall, 4*0 

Wild Biscay shook his moun- 
tain-coronet, 
Valencia roused her at the bat- 
tle-call, 
And, foremost still where 
Valor's sons are met, 
Fast started to his gun each fiery 
Miquelet. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



295 



XLVII 

But unappallecl and burning for 
the fight, 
The invaders march, of vic- 
tory secure ; 
Skilful their force to sever or 
unite, 
And trained alike to vanquisl-i 
or endure, 
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest 
to insure 
Discord to breathe and jeal- 
ousy to sow, 420 
To quell by boasting and by 
bribes to lure ; 
While naught against them 
bring the unpractised foe v 
Save hearts for freedom's cause 
and hands for freedom's 
blow. 

XLVIII 

Proudly they march — but, O, 
they march not forth 
By one hot field to crown a 
brief campaign, 
As when their eagles, sweeping 
through the North, 
Destroyed at every stoop an 
ancient reign ! 
Far other fate had Heaven de- 
creed for Spain ; 
In vain the steel, in vain the 
torch was plied, 
New Patriot armies started from 
the slain, 430 

High blazed the war, and long, 
and far, and wide, 
And oft the God of Battles blest 
the righteous side. 

XLIX 

Nor unatoned, where Freedom's 
foes prevail, 
Remained their savage waste. 
With blade and brand 
By day the invaders ravaged 
hill and dale, 
But with the darkness the 
Guerilla band 



Came like night's tempest and 
avenged the land, 
And claimed for blood the re- 
tribution due, 
Probed the hard heart and 
lopped the murd'rous hand; 
And Dawn, when o'er the scene 
her beams she threw, 440 
Midst ruins they had made the 
spoilers' corpses knew. 



What minstrel verse may sing 
or tongue may tell, 
Amid the visioned strife from 
sea to sea, 
How oft the Patriot banners rose 
or fell, 
Still honored in defeat as vic- 
tory ? 
For that sad pageant of events 
to be 
Showed every form of fight by 
field and flood; 
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting 
forth their glee, 
Beheld, while riding on the 
tempest scud, 449 

The waters choked with slain, the 
earth bedrenched with blood : 

LI 

Then Zaragoza — blighted be the 
tongue 
That names thy name without 
the honor due ! 
For never hath the harp of min- 
strel rung 
Of faith so felly proved, so 
firmly true ! 
Mine, sap, and bomb thy shattered 
ruins knew, 
Each art of war's extremity 
had room, 
Twice from thy half - sacked 
streets the foe withdrew, 
And when at length stern Fate 
decreed thy doom, 
They won not Zaragoza but her 
children's bloody tomb, 



296 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



LII 

Yet raise thy head, sad city ! 
Though in chains, 460 

Enthralled thou canst not be ! 
Arise, and claim 
Reverence from every heart 
where Freedom reigns, 
For what thou worshippest ! — 
thy sainted dame, 
She of the Column, honored be 
her name 
By all, whate'er their creed, 
who honor love ! 
And like the sacred relics of the 
flame 
That gave some martyr to the 
blessed above, 
To every loyal heart may thy sad 
embers prove ! 

liii 

Nor thine alone such wreck. 
Gerona fair ! 
Faithful to death thy heroes 
should be sung, 470 

Manning the towers, while o'er 
their heads the air 
Swart as the smoke from ra- 
ging furnace hung ; 
Now thicker darkening where 
the mine was sprung, 
Now briefly lightened by the 
cannon's flare, 
Now arched with fire-sparks as 
the bomb was flung, 
And reddening now with con- 
flagration's glare, 
While by the fatal light the foes 
for storm prepare. 

LIV 

While all around was danger, 
strife, and fear, 
While the earth shook and 
darkened was the sky, 
And wide destruction stunned 
the listening ear, 480 

Appalled the heart, and stupe- 
fled the eye, — 



Afar was heard that thrice-re- 
peated cry, 
In which old Albion's heart 
and tongue unite, 
Whene'er her soul is up and 
pulse beats high, 
Whether it hail the wine-cup 
or the fight, 
And bid each arm, be strong or bid 
each heart be light. 

LV 

Don Roderick turned him as the 
shout grew loud — 
A varied scene the changeful 
vision showed, 
For, where the ocean mingled 
with the cloud, 
A gallant navy stemmed the 
billows broad. 490 

From mast and stern Saint 
George's symbol flowed, 
Blent with the silver cross to 
Scotland dear; 
Mottling the sea their landward 
barges rowed, 
And flashed the sun on bayo- 
net, brand, and spear, 
And the wild beach returned the 
seamen's jovial cheer. 

IiVI 

It was a dread yet spirit-stirring 
sight ! 
The billows foamed beneath a 
thousand oars, 
Fast as they land the red-cross 
ranks unite, 
Legions on legions brightening 
all the shores. 
Then banners rise and cannon- 
signal roars, 500 
Then peals the warlike thun- 
der of the drum, 
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet- 
flourish pours, 
And patriot hopes awake and 
doubts are dumb, 
For, bold in Freedom's cause, the 
bands of Ocean come ! 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



297 



LVII 

A various host they came — 
whose ranks display 
Each mode in which the war- 
rior meets the fight : 
The deep battalion locks its firm 
array, 
And meditates his aim the 
marksman light ; 
Far glance the lines of sabres 
flashing bright, 
Where mounted squadrons 
shake the echoing mead ; 510 
Lacks not artillery breathing 
flame and night, 
Nor the fleet ordnance whirled 
by rapid steed, 
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin 
and in speed. 

LYIII 

A various host — from kindred 
realms they came, 
Brethren in arms but rivals in 
renown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry 
England claim, 
And with their deeds of valor 
deck her crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers 
their martial frown, 
And hers their scorn of death 
in freedom's cause, 
Their eyes of azure, and their 
locks of brown, 520 

And the blunt speech that 
bursts without a pause, 
And freeborn thoughts which 
league the soldier with the 
laws. 

LIX 

And, O loved warriors of the 
minstrel's land ! 
Yonder your bonnets nod, your 
tartans wave ! 
The rugged form may mark the 
mountain band, 
And harsher features, and a 
mien more grave ; 



But ne'er in battle-field throbbed 
heart so brave 
As that which beats beneath 
the Scottish plaid ; 
And when the pibroch bids the 
battle rave, 
And level for the charge your 
arms are laid, 530 

Where lives the desperate foe that 
for such onset staid ? 

lx 

Hark! from yon stately ranks 
what laughter rings, 
Mingling wild mirth with war's 
stern minstrelsy, 
His jest while each blithe com- 
rade round him flings 
And moves to death with mili- 
tary glee : 
Boast, Erin, boast them ! tame- 
less, frank, and free, 
In kindness warm and fierce 
in danger known, 
Eough nature's children, humor- 
ous as she : 
And He, yon Chieftain — strike 
the proudest tone 
Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the 
hero is thine own. 540 

LXI 

Now on the scene Vimeira 
should be shown, 
On Talavera's fight should 
Roderick gaze, 
And hear Corunna wail her 
battle won, 
And see Busaco's crest with 
lightning blaze : — 
But shall fond fable mix with 
heroes' praise ? 
Hath Fiction's stage for 
Truth's long triumphs room ? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle 
with the bays 
That claim a long eternity to 
bloom 
Around the warrior's crest and 
o'er the warrior's tomb ! 



298 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



LXII 

Or may I give adventurous 
Fancy scope, 550 

And stretch a bold hand to 
the awful veil 
That hides futurity from anxious 
hope. 
Bidding beyond it scenes of 
glory hail, 
And painting Europe rousing at 
the tale 
Of Spain's invaders from her 
confines hurled, 
While kindling nations buckle 
on their mail, 
And Fame, with clarion-blast 
and wings unfurled, 
To freedom and revenge awakes 
an injured world? 

LXIII 

O vain, though anxious, is the 
glance I cast, 
Since Fate has marked futurity 
her own : 560 

Yet Fate resigns to worth the 
glorious past, 
The deeds recorded and the 
laurels won. 
Then, though the Vault of De- 
stiny be gone, 
King, prelate, all the phan- 
tasms of my brain, 
Melted away like mist-wreaths 
in the sun, 
Yet grant for faith, for valor, 
and for Spain, 
One note of pride and fire, a pa- 
triot's parting strain ! 



CONCLUSION 

1 

1 Who shall command Estrella's 
mountain-tide 
Back to the source, when tem- 
pest-chafed, to hie ? 

Who, when Gascogne's vexed 
gulf is raging wide, 



Shall hush it as a nurse her in- 
fant's cry ? 
His magic power let such vain 
boaster try, 
And when the torrent shall his 
voice obey, 
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his 
lullaby, 
Let him stand forth and bar 
mine eagles' way, 
And they shall heed his voice and 
at his bidding stay. 

11 

1 Else ne'er to stoop till high on 
Lisbon's towers 10 

They close their wings, the 
symbol of our yoke, 
And their own sea hath whelmed 
yon red-cross powers ! ' 
Thus, on the summit of Al- 
verca's rock, 
To marshal, duke, and peer 
Gaul's leader spoke. 
While downward on the land 
his legions press, 
Before them it was rich with 
vine and flock, 
And smiled like Eden in her 
summer dress ; — 
Behind their wasteful march a 
reeking wilderness, 
in 

And shall the boastful chief 
maintain his word, 
Though Heaven hath heard 
the wailings of the land, 20 
Though Lusitania whet her 
vengeful sword, 
Though Britons arm and 
Wellington command ? 
No ! grim Busaco's iron ridge 
shall stand 
An adamantine barrier to his 
force ; 
And from its base shall wheel 
his shattered band, 
As from the unshaken rock 
the torrent hoarse 
Bears off its broken waves and 
seeks a devious course. 



CONCLUSION 



299 



IV 

Yet not because Alcoba's moun- 
tain-hawk 
Hath on his best and bravest 
made her food, 
In numbers confident, yon chief 
shall balk 30 

His lord's imperial thirst for 
spoil and blood : 
For full in view the promised 
conquest stood, 
And Lisbon's matrons from 
their walls might sum 
The myriads that had half the 
world subdued, 
And hear the distant thunders 
of the drum 
That bids the bands of France to 
storm and havoc come. 



Four moons have heard these 
thunders idly rolled, 
Have seen these wistful my- 
riads eye their prey, 
As famished wolves survey a 
guarded fold — 
But in the middle path a Lion 
lay ! 40 

At length they move — but not 
to battle-fray, 
Nor blaze yon fires where 
meets the manly fight ; 
Beacons of infamy, they light the 
way 
Where cowardice and cruelty 
unite 
To damn with double shame their 
ignominious flight ! 

VI 

triumph for the fiends of lust 
and wrath ! 
Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to 
be forgot, 
What wanton horrors marked 
then- wrackf ul path ! 
The peasant butchered in his 
ruined cot, 



The hoary priest even at the 
altar shot, 50 

Childhood and age given o'er 
to sword and flame, 
Woman to infamy; — no crime 
forgot, 
By which inventive demons 
might proclaim 
Immortal hate to man and scorn 
of God's great name ! 

VII 

The rudest sentinel in Britain 
born 
With horror paused to view 
the havoc done, 
Gave his poor crust to feed some 
wretch forlorn, 
Wiped his stern eye, then 
fiercer grasped his gun. 
Nor with less zeal shall Britain's 
peaceful son 
Exult the debt of sympathy to 
pay ; 60 

Kiches nor poverty the tax shall 
shun, 
Nor prince nor peer, the 
wealthy nor the gay, 
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor 
bard's more worthless lay. 

viii 

But thou — unfoughten wilt 
thou yield to Fate, 
Minion of Fortune, now mis- 
called in vain ! 
Can vantage-ground no confi- 
dence create, 
Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's 
mountain-chain? 
Vainglorious fugitive, yet turn 
again ! 
Behold, where, named by some 
•prophetic seer, 
Flows Honor's Fountain, as fore- 
doomed the stain 70 
From thy dishonored name and 
arms to clear — 
Fallen child of Fortune, turn, re- 
deem her favor here ! 



300 



thp: vision of don Roderick 



IX 

Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each 
distant aid ; 
Those chiefs that never heard 
the lion roar ! 
Within whose souls lives not a 
trace portrayed 
Of Talavera or Mondego's 
shore ! 
Marshal each hand thou hast 
and summon more ; 
Of war's fell stratagems ex- 
haust the whole ; 
Rank upon rank, squadron on 
squadron pour, 
Legion on legion on thy foe- 
man roll, 80 
And weary out his arm — thou 
canst not quell his soul. 

x 

O vainly gleams with steel 
Agueda's shore, 
Vainly thy squadrons hide 
Assuava's plain, 
And front the flying thunders as 
they roar, 
With frantic charge and ten- 
fold odds, in vain ! 
And what avails thee that for 
Cameron slain 
Wild from his plaided ranks 
the yell was given ? 
Vengeance and grief gave moun- 
tain-rage the rein, 
And, at the bloody spear-point 
headlong driven. 
Thy despot's giant guards fled like 
the rack of heaven. 90 

XI 

Go, baffled boaster! teach thy 
haughty mood 
To plead at thine imperious 
master's throne ! 

Say, thou hast left his legions in 
their blood, 
Deceived his hopes and frus- 
trated thine own ; 

Say, that thine utmost skill and 
valor shown 



By British skill and valor were 
outvied ; 
Last say, thy conqueror was 
Wellington ! 
And if he chafe, be his own 
fortune tried — 
God and our cause to friend, the 
venture we '11 abide. 



XII 

But you, the heroes of that well- 
fought day, 100 
How shall a bard unknowing 
and unknown 
His meed to each victorious 
leader pay, 
Or bind on every brow the 
laurels won ? 
Yet fain my harp would wake 
its boldest tone, 
O'er the wide sea to hail Ca- 
dogak brave : 
And he perchance the minstrel- 
note might own, 
Mindful of meeting brief that 
Fortune gave 
Mid yon far western isles that hear 
the Atlantic rave. 



XIII 

Yes! hard the task, when Brit- 
ons wield the sword, 
To give each chief and every 
field its fame: no 

Hark ! Albuera thunders Beres- 

FORD, 

And red Barosa shouts for 
dauntless Gr.eme ! 
O for a verse of tumult and of 
flame, 
Bold as the bursting of their 
cannon sound, 
To bid the world re-echo to their 
fame! 
For never upon gory battle- 
ground 
With conquest's well - bought 
wreath were braver victors 
crowned ! 



CONCLUSION 



30i 



XIV 

O who shall grudge him Al- 
buera's bays 
Who brought a race regene- 
rate to the field, 
Koused them to emulate their 
fathers' praise, 120 

Tempered their headlong rage, 
their courage steeled, 
And raised fair Lusitania'> 
fallen shield, 
And gave new edge to Lusi- 
tania's sword, 
And taught her sons forgotten 
arms to wield — 
Shivered my harp and burst its 
every chord, 
If it forget thy worth, victorious 
Beresford! 



XV 

Not on that bloody field of battle 
won, 
Though Gaul's proud legions 
rolled like mist away, 
Was half his self-devoted valor 
shown, — 
He gaged but life on that illus- 
trious day ; 130 
But when he toiled those squad- 
rons to array 
Who fought like Britons in the 
bloody game, 
Sharper than Polish pike or as- 
sagay, 
He braved the shafts of cen- 
sure and of shame, 
.And, clearer far than life, he 
pledged a soldier's fame. 

XVI 

Nor be his praise o'erpast who 
strove to hide 
Beneath the warrior's vest 
affection's wound, 
Whose wish Heaven for his 
country's weal denied ; 
Danger and fate ne sought, 
but glory found. 



From clime to clime, where'er 
war's trumpets sound, 140 
The wanderer went; yet, Cale- 
donia ! still 
Thine was his thought in march 
and tented ground ; 
He dreamed mid Alpine cliffs 
of Athole's hill, 
And heard in Ebro's roar his 
Lyndoch's lovely rill. 

XVII 

hero of a race renowned of old, 
Whose war-cry oft has waked 
the battle-swell, 
Since first distinguished in the 
onset bold, 
Wild sounding when the Eo- 
man rampart fell ! 
By Wallace' side it rung the 
Southron's knell, 
Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber 
owned its fame, 150 

T umme IPs rude pass can of its 
terrors tell, 
But ne'er from prouder field 
arose the name 
Than when wild Eonda learned 
the conquering shout of 

GR-E3IE ! 

XVIII 

But all too long, through seas un- 
known and dark, — 
With Spenser's parable I close 
my tale, — 
By shoal and rock hath steered 
my venturous bark, 
And landward now I drive be- 
fore the gale. 
And now the blue and distant 
shore I hail, 
And nearer now I see the port 
expand, 
And now I gladly furl my weary 
sail, 160 

And, as the prow light touches 
on the strand, 
I strike my red-cross flag and 
bind my skiff to land. 



302 



ROKEBY 



ROKEBY 

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS 



TO 

JOHN B. S. MORRITT, ESQ. 

THIS POEM 

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE 
OF ROKEBY, IS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE 

FRIENDSHIP, BY 

WALTER SCOTT. 



ADVERTISEMENT 



The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, 
and shifts to the adjacent fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in that 
Vicinity. 

The Time occupied by the Action is a space of Five Days, Three of which are 
supposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth and the beginning of the Sixth 
Canto. 

The date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great 
Battle of Marston Moor, 3d July, 1644. This period of public confusion has been 
chosen without any purpose of combining the Fable with the Military or Political 
Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of probability to the 
Fictitious Narrative now presented to the Public. 



CANTO FIRST 



The moon is in her summer glow, 

But hoarse and high the breezes 
blow, 

And, racking o'er her face, the 
cloud 

Varies the tincture of her shroud ; 

On Barnard's towers and Tees's 
stream 

She changes as a guilty dream, 

When Conscience with remorse 
and fear 

Goads sleeping Fancy's wild ca- 
reer. 



Her light seems now the blush of 

shame, 
Seems now fierce anger's darker 

flame, 10 

Shifting that shade to come and go, 
Like apprehension's hurried glow ; 
Then sorrow's livery dims the air, 
And dies in darkness, like despair. 
Such varied hues the warder sees 
Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
Then from old Baliol's tower looks 

forth, 
Sees the clouds mustering in the 

north, 1 8 

Hears upon turret-roof and wall 
By fits the plashing rain -drop fall, 



CANTO FIRST 



303 



Lists to the breeze's boding sound, 
And wraps his shaggy mantle 
round. 

11 
Those towers, which in the change- 
ful gleam 
Throw murky shadows on the 

stream, 
Those towers of Barnard hold a 

guest, 
The emotions of whose troubled 

breast, 
In wild and strange confusion 

driven, 
Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses 

tied, 
Oft had he changed his weary 

side, 30 

Composed his limbs, and vainly 

sought 
By effort strong to banish thought. 
Sleep came at length, but with a 

train 
Of feelings true and fancies vain, 
Mingling, in wild disorder cast, 
The expected future with the past, 
Conscience, anticipating time, 
Already rues the enacted crime, 
And calls her furies forth to shake 
The sounding scourge and hissing 

snake ; 40 

While her poor victim's outward 

throes 
Bear witness to his mental woes, 
And show what lesson may be read 
Beside a sinner's restless bed. 

in 
Thus Oswald's laboring feelings 

trace 
Strange changes in his sleeping 

face, 
Rapid and ominous as these 
With which the moonbeams tinge 

the Tees. 
There might be seen of shame the 

blush, 
There anger's dark and fiercer 

flush, so 



While the perturbed sleeper's hand 
Seemed grasping dagger-knife or 

brand. 
Relaxed that grasp, the heavy 

sigh, 
The tear in the half-opening eye, 
The pallid cheek and brow, con- 
fessed 
That grief was busy in his breast : 
Nor pause that mood — a sudden 

start 
Impelled the life-blood from the 

heart ; 
Features convulsed and mutter- 

ings dread 
Show terror reigns in sorrow's 

stead. 60 

That pang the painful slumber 

broke, 
And Oswald with a start awoke. 

IV 

He woke, and feared again to close 
His eyelids in such dire repose ; 
He woke, — to watch the lamp, and 

tell 
From hour to hour the castle-bell, 
Or listen to the owlet's cry, 
Or the sad breeze that whistles 

hy, 

Or catch by fits the tuneless rhyme 

With which the warder cheats the 

time, 70 

And envying think how, when the 

sun 
Bids the poor soldier's watch be 

done, 
Couched on his straw and fancy- 
free, 
He sleeps like careless infancy. 



Far town ward sounds a distant 

tread, 
And Oswald, starting from his bed, 
Hath caught it, though no human 

ear, 
Unsharpened by revenge and fear, 
Could e'er distinguish horse's 

clank, 79 

Until it reached the castle bank. 



304 



ROKEBY 



Now nigh and plain the sound ap- 
pears, 

The warder's challenge now he 
hears, 

Then clanking chains and levers 
tell 

That o'er the moat the drawbridge 
fell, 

And, in the castle court below, 

Voices are heard, and torches 
glow, 

As marshalling the stranger's way 

Straight for the room where Os- 
wald lay ; 

The cry was, ' Tidings from the 
host, 

Of weight — a messenger comes 
post.' 90 

Stifling the tumult of his breast, 

His answer Oswald thus expressed, 

1 Bring food and wine, and trim the 
fire; 

Admit the stranger and retire.' 

VI 

The stranger came with heavy 

stride; 
The morion's plumes his visage 

hide, 
And the buff-coat in ample fold 
Mantles his form's gigantic mould. 
Full slender answer deigned he 
To Oswald's anxious courtesy, 100 
But marked by a disdainful smile 
He saw and scorned the petty 

wile, 
When Oswald changed the torch's 

place, 
Anxious that on the soldier's face 
Its partial lustre might be thrown, 
To show his looks yet hide his own. 
His guest the while laid slow aside 
The ponderous cloak of tough 

bull's hide, 
And to the torch glanced broad 

and clear 
The corselet of a cuirassier ; no 
Then from his brows the casque 

he drew 
And from the dank plume dashed 

the dew, 



From gloves of mail relieved his 

hands 
And spread them to the kindling 

brands, 
And, turning to the genial board, 
Without a health or pledge or word 
Of meet and social reverence said, 
Deeply he drank and fiercely fed, 
As free from ceremony's sway 
As famished wolf that tears his 

prey. 120 

VII 

With deep impatience, tinged with 

fear, 
His host beheld him gorge his 

cheer, 
And quaff the full carouse that 

lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside, 
Now paced the room with hasty 

stride, 
In feverish agony to learn 
Tidings of deep and dread con- 
cern, 
Cursing each moment that his 

guest 129 

Protracted o'er his ruffian feast, 
Yet, viewing with alarm at last 
The end of that uncouth repast, 
Almost he seemed their haste to 

rue 
As at his sign his train withdrew, 
And left him with the stranger 

free 
To question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence long proclaim 
A struggle between fear and 

shame. 

VIII 

Much in the stranger's mien ap- 
pears 
To justify suspicious fears. 140 
On his dark face a scorching clime 
And toil had done the work of 

time, 
Roughened the brow, the temples 

bared, 
And sable hairs with silver shared 



CANTO FIRST 



305 



Yet left — what age alone could 

tame — 
The lip of pride, the eye of flame ; 
The full-drawn lip that upward 

curled, 
The eye that seemed to scorn the 

world. 
That lip had terror never 

blanched ; 
Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop 

quenched 150 

The flash severe of swarthy glow 
That mocked at pain and knew 

not woe. 
Inured to danger's direst form, 
Tornado and earthquake, flood 

and storm, 
Death had he seen by sudden 

blow, 
By wasting plague, by tortures 

slow, 
By mine or breach, by steel or 

ball, 
Knew all his shapes and scorned 

them all. 

IX 

But yet, though Bertram's hard- 
ened look 
Unmoved could blood and danger 
brook, 160 

Still worse than apathy had place 
On his swart brow and callous 

face; 
For evil passions cherished long 
Had ploughed them with impres- 
sions strong. 
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay 
Light folly, past with youth away, 
But rooted stood in manhood's 

hour 
The weeds of vice without their 

flower. 
And yet the soil in which they 

grew, 

Had it been tamed when life was 

new, 170 

Had depth and vigor to bring forth 

The hardier fruits of virtuous 

worth. 
Not that e'en then his heart had 
known 



The gentler feelings' kindly tone ; 
But lavish waste had been refined 
To bounty in his chastened mind, 
And lust of gold, that waste to 

feed, 
Been lost in love of glory's meed, 
And, frantic then no more, his 

pride 
Had ta'en fair virtue for its 

guide. 180 



Even now, by conscience unre- 
strained, 
Clogged by gross vice, by slaugh- 
ter stained, 
Still knew his daring soul to soar 
And mastery o'er the mind he 

bore ; 
For meaner guilt or heart less 

hard 
Quailed beneath Bertram's bold 

regard. 
And this felt Oswald, while in 

vain 
He strove by many a winding 

train 
To lure his sullen guest to show 
Unasked the news he longed to 

know, 190 

While on far other subject hung 
His heart than faltered from his 

tongue. 
Yet naught for that his guest did 

deign 
To note or spare his secret pain, 
But still in stern and stubborn 

sort 
Keturned him answer dark and 

short, 
Or started from the theme to range 
In loose digression wild and 

strange, 
And forced the embarrassed host 

to buy 
By query close direct reply. 200 

XI 

Awhile he glozed upon the cause 
Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws, 
And Church reformed — but felt 
rebuke 



306 



ROKEBY 



Beneath grim Bertram's sneering 

look, 
Then stammered — ' Has a field 

been fought? 
Has Bertram news of battle 

brought? 
For sure a soldier, famed so far 
In foreign fields for feats of war, 
On eve of fight ne'er left the host 
Until the field were won and 

lost.' 2IO 

1 Here, in your towers by circling 

Tees, 
You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at 

ease: 
Why deem it strange that others 

come 
To share such safe and easy home, 
From fields where danger, death, 

and toil 
Are the reward of civil broil ? ' — 
4 Nay, mock not, friend ! since well 

we know 
The near advances of the foe, 
To mar our northern army's work, 
Encamped before beleaguered 

York 220 

Thy horse with valiant Fairfax 

lay. 
And must have fought — how went 

the day ? ' 

XII 

'Wouldst hear the tale? — On 

Marston heath 
Met front to front the ranks of 

death ; 
Flourished the trumpets fierce, 

and now 
Fired was each eye and flushed 

each brow ; 
On either side loud clamors ring, 
"God and the Cause!"— " God 

and the King ! " 
Right English all, they rushed to 

blows, 
With naught to win and all to 

lose. 230 

I could have laughed — but lacked 

the time — 
To see, in phrenesy sublime, 



How the fierce zealots fought and 

bled 
For king or state, as humor led ; 
Some for a dream of public good, 
Some for church-tippet, gown, and 

hood, 
Draining their veins, in death to 

claim 
A patriot's or a martyr's name. — 
Led Bertram Risingham the 

hearts 
That countered there on adverse 

parts, 240 

No superstitious fool had I 
Sought El Dorados in the sky ! 
Chili had heard me through her 

states, 
And Lima oped her silver gates, 
Rich Mexico I had marched 

through, 
And sacked the splendors of Peru, 
Till sunk Pizarro's daring name, 
And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's 

fame.' — 
' Still from the purpose wilt thou 

stray ! 
Good gentle friend, how went the 

day?' 250 

XIII 

' Good am I deemed at trumpet 

sound, 
And good where goblets dance the 

round, 
Though gentle ne'er was joined 

till now 
With rugged Bertram's breast and 

brow. — 
But I resume. The battle's rage 
Was like the strife which currents 

wage 
Where Orinoco in his pride 
Rolls to the main no tribute tide, 
But 'gainst broad ocean urges 

far 
A rival sea of roaring war ; 260 
While, in ten thousand eddies 

driven, 
The billows fling their foam to 

heaven, 
And the pale pilot seeks in vain 



CANTO FIRST 



307 



Where rolls the river, where the 

main: 
Even thus upon the bloody field 
The eddying tides of conflict 

wheeled 
Ambiguous, till that heart of 

flame, 
Hot Rupert, on our squadrons 

came, 
Hurling against our spears a line 
Of gallants fiery as their wine ; 270 
Then ours, though stubborn in 

their zeal, 
In zeal's despite began to reel. 
"What wouldst thou more?*— in 

tumult tost, 
Our leaders fell, our ranks were 

lost. 
A thousand men who drew the 

sword 
For both the Houses and the 

Word, 
Preached forth from hamlet, 

grange, and down, 
To curb the crosier and the crown, 
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretched 

in gore, 
And ne'er shall rail at mitre 

more.— 280 

Thus fared it when I left the fight, 
With the good Cause and Com- 
mons' right' — 

XIV 

4 Disastrous news ! ' dark Wycliffe 

said; 
Assumed despondence bent his 

head, 
While troubled joy was in his eye, 
The well -feigned sorrow to be- 
lie.— 
' Disastrous news ! — when needed 

most, 
Told ye not that your chiefs were 

lost? 
Complete the woful tale and say 
Who fell upon that fatal day, 290 
What leaders of repute and name 
Bought by their death a deathless 

fame. 
If such my direst foeman's doom, 



My tears shall dew his honored 

tomb. — 
No answer ? — Friend, of all our 

host, 
Thou know'st whom I should hate 

the most, 
Whom thou too once wert wont to 

hate, 
Yet leavest me doubtful of his 

fate.' — 
With look unmoved — ' Of friend 

or foe, 
Aught,' answered Bertram, 

' wouldst thou know, 300 
Demand in simple terms and plain, 
A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; 
For question dark or riddle high 
I have nor judgment nor reply.' 

xv 

The wrath his art and fear sup- 

pressed 
Now blazed at once in Wycliffe's 

breast, 
And brave from man so meanly 

born 
Roused his hereditary scorn. 
1 Wretch ! hast thou paid thy 

bloody debt ? 
Philip of Mortham, lives he 

yet? 310 

False to thy patron or thine oath, 
Traitorous or perjured, one or 

both. 
Slave! hast thou kept thy promise 

plight, 
To slay thy leader in the fight ? ' 
Then from his seat the soldier 

sprung, 
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly 

wrung ; 
His grasp, as hard as glove of 

mail, 
Forced the red blood-drop from 

the nail — 
' A health ! ' he cried ; and ere he 

quaffed 
Flung from him Wycliffe's hand 

and laughed— 320 

1 Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks 

thy heart ! 



3 o8 



ROKEBY 



Now play'st thou well thy genuine 

part ! 
Worthy, but for thy craven fear, 
Like me to roam a buccaneer. 
What reck'st thou of the Cause 

divine, 
If Mortham's wealth and lands be 

thine ? 
What carest thou for beleaguered 

York, 
If this good hand have done its 

work ? 
Or what though Fairfax and his 

best 
Are reddening Marston's swarthy 

breast, 330 

If Philip Mortham with them lie, 
Lending his life - blood to the 

dye? — 
Sit, then ! and as mid comrades 

free 
Carousing after victory, 
When tales are told of blood and 

fear 
That boys and women shrink to 

hear, 
From point to point I frankly 

tell 
The deed of death as it befell. 

XVI 

1 When purposed vengeance I fore- 
go, 

Term me a wretch, nor deem me 
foe ; 34° 

And when an insult I forgive, 

Then brand me as a slave and 
live ! — 

Philip of Mortham is with those 

Whom Bertram Kisingham calls 
foes ; 

Or whom more sure revenge at- 
tends, 

If numbered with ungrateful 
friends. 

As was his wont, ere battle 
glowed, 

Along the marshalled ranks he 
rode, 

And wore his visor up the while. 

I saw his melancholy smile 350 



When, full opposed in front, he 
knew 

Where Rokeby's kindred banner 
flew. 

" And thus," he said, " will friends 
divide!" — 

I heard, and thought how side by 
side 

We two had turned the battle's 
tide 

In many a well-debated field 

Where Bertram's breast was 
Philip's shield.. 

I thought on Darien's deserts pale 

Where death bestrides the even- 
ing gale ; 

How o'er my friend my cloak I 
threw, 360 

Aud fenceless faced the deadly 
dew; 

I thought on Quariana's cliff 

Where, rescued from our founder- 
ing skiff, 

Through the white breakers' wrath 
I bore 

Exhausted Mortham to the shore ; 

And, when his side an arrow 
found, 

I sucked the Indian's venomed 
wound. 

These thoughts like torrents rush- 
ed along, 

To sweep away my purpose strong. 

XYII 

1 Hearts are not flint, and flints are 

rent; 370 

Hearts are not steel, and steel is 

bent. 
When Mortham bade me, as of 

yore, 
Be near him in the battle's roar, 
I scarcely saw the spears laid low, 
I scarcely heard the trumpets 

blow; 
Lost was the war in inward strife, 
Debating Mortham's death or life. 
'T was then I thought how, lured 

to come 
As partner of his wealth and home, 
Years of piratic wandering o'er, 



CANTO FIRST 



309 



With him I sought our native 
shore. 381 

But Mortham's lord grew far es- 
tranged 

From the bold heart with whom 
he ranged ; 

Doubts, horrors, superstitious 
fears, 

Saddened and dimmed descending 
years ; 

The wily priests their victim 
sought, 

And damned each free-born deed 
and thought. 

Then must I seek another home, 

My license shook his sober dome ; 

If gold he gave, in one wild day 

I revelled thrice the sum away. 391 

An idle outcast then I strayed, 

Unfit for tillage or for trade. 

Deemed, like the steel of rusted 
lance, 

Useless and dangerous at once. 

The women feared my hardy look, 

At my approach the peaceful 
shook ; 

The merchant saw my glance of 
flame, 

And locked his hoards when Ber- 
tram came ; 

Each child of coward peace kept 
far 400 

From the neglected son of war. 

XVIII 

4 But civil discord gave the call, 
And made my trade the trade of 

all. 
By Mortham urged, I came again 
His vassals to the fight to train. 
What guerdon waited on my care ? 
I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 
Sour fanatics each trust obtained, 
And I, dishonored and disdained, 
Gained but the high and happy 

lot 410 

In these poor arms to front the 

shot ! — 
All this thou know'st,thy gestures 

tell; 
Yet hear it o'er and mark it well. 



'T is honor bids me now relate 
Each circumstance of Mortham's 
fate. 

XIX 

4 Thoughts, from the tongue that 

slowly part, 
Glance quick as lightning through 

the heart. 
As my spur pressed my courser's 

side, 
Philip of Mortham's cause was 

tried, 
And ere the charging squadrons 

mixed 420 

His plea was cast, his doom was 

fixed. 
I watched him through the doubt- 
ful fray, 
That changed as March's moody 

day, 
Till, like a stream that bursts its 

bank, 
Fierce Rupert thundered on our 

flank. 
'T was then, midst tumult, smoke, 

and strife, 
Where each man fought for death 

or life, 
'T was then I fired my petronei, 
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast, 430 
Of wrath and anguish— 'twas his 

last. 
Think not that there I stopped, to 

view 
What of the battle should ensue ; 
But ere I cleared that bloody 

press, 
Our northern horse ran master- 
less; 
Monckton and Mitton told the news 
How troops of Roundheads choked 

the Ouse, 
And many a bonny Scot aghast, 
Spurring his palfrey northward, 

past, 
Cursing the day when zeal or 

meed 44 o 

First lured their Lesley o'er the 

Tweed. 



3io 



ROKEBY 



Yet when I reached the banks of 
Swale, 

Had rumor learned another tale ; 

With his barbed horse, fresh tid- 
ings say, 

Stout Cromwell has redeemed the 
day: 

But whether false the news or true, 

Oswald, I reck as light as you.' 

xx 

Not then by Wycliffe might be 

shown 
How his pride startled at the tone 
In which his complice, fierce and 

free, 450 

Asserted guilt's equality. 
In smoothest terms his speech he 

wove 
Of endless friendship, faith, and 

love; 
Promised and vowed in courteous 

sort, 
But Bertram broke professions 

short. 
4 Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay, 
No, scarcely till the rising day ; 
Warned by the legends of my 

youth, 
I trust not an associate's truth. 
Do not my native dales prolong 460 
Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 
Trained forward to his bloody fall, 
By Girsonfield, that treacherous 

Hall? 
Oft by the Pringle's haunted side 
The shepherd sees his spectre 

glide. 
And near the spot that gave me 

name, 
The moated mound of Risingham, 
Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Sweet Woodburne's cottages and 

trees, 
Some ancient sculptor's art has 

shown 470 

An outlaw's image on the stone ; 
Unmatched in strength, a giant he, 
With quivered back and kirtled 

knee. 
Ask how he died, that hunter bold, 



The tameless monarch of the 

wold, 
And age and infancy can tell 
By brother's treachery he fell. 
Thus warned by legends of my 

youth, 
I trust to no associate's truth. 

XXI 

' When last we reasoned of this 

deed, 480 

Naught, I bethink me, was agreed, 
Or by what rule, or when, or 

where, 
The wealth of Mortham we should 

share ; 
Then list while I the portion name 
Our differing laws give each to 

claim. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's 

throne, 
Her rules of heritage must own ; 
They deal thee, as to nearest heir, 
Thy kinsman's lands and livings 

fair, 
And these I yield : — do thou re- 
vere 490 
The statutes of the buccaneer. 
Friend to the sea, and foeman 

sworn 
To all that on her waves are 

borne, 
W T hen falls a mate in battle broil 
His comrade heirs his portioned 

spoil ; 
When dies in fight a daring foe 
He claims his wealth who struck 

the blow ; 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those spoils of Indian seas and 

mines 
Hoarded in Mortham's caverns 

dark ; 500 

Ingot of gold and diamond spark, 
Chalice and plate from churches 

borne, 
And gems from shrieking beauty 

torn, 
Each string of pearl, each silver 

bar, 
And all the wealth of western war. 



CANTO FIRST 



3ii 



I go to search where, dark and 

deep, 
Those trans - Atlantic treasures 

sleep. 
Thou must along— for, lacking 

thee, 
The heir will scarce find entrance 

free ; 509 

And then farewell. I haste to try 
Each varied pleasure wealth can 

buy; 
When cloyed each wish, these 

wars afford 
Fresh work for Bertram's restless 

sword.' 

XXII 

An undecided answer hung 
On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
Despite his craft, he heard with 

awe 
This ruffian stabber fix the law ; 
While his own troubled passions 

veer 
Through hatred, joy, regret, and 

fear : — 
Joyed at the soul that Bertram 

flies, 520 

He grudged the murderer's mighty 

prize, 
Hated his pride's presumptuous 

tone, 
And feared to wend with him 

alone. 
At length, that middle course to 

steer 
To cowardice and craft so dear, 
1 His charge,' he said, ■ would ill 

allow 
His absence from the fortress 

now; 
Wilfrid on Bertram should 

attend, 
His son should journey with his 

friend.' 

XXIII 

Contempt kept Bertram's anger 
down. 530 

And wreathed to savage smile his 
frown. 



4 Wilfrid, or thou, — 'tis one tome 

Whichever bears the golden key. 

Yet think not but I mark, and 
smile 

To mark, thy poor and selfish wile ! 

If injury from me you fear, 

What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields 
thee here ? 

I 've sprung from walls more high 
than these, 

I've swam through deeper streams 
than Tees. 539 

Might I not stab thee ere one yell 

Could rouse the distant sentinel? 

Start not — it is not my design, 

But, if it were, weak fence were 
thine ; 

And, trust me that in time of need 

This hand hath done more desper- 
ate deed. 

Go, haste and rouse thy slumber- 
ing son ; 

Time calls, and I must needs be 



gone. 



XXIV 



Naught of his sire's ungenerous 

part 
Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart, 
A heart too soft from early life 550 
To hold with fortune needful 

strife. 
His sire, while yet a hardier race 
Of numerous sons were Wycliffe's 

grace, 
On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand 
For feeble heart and forceless 

hand; 
But a fond mother's care and joy 
Were centred in her sickly boy. 
No touch of childhood's frolic 

mood 
Showed the elastic spring of blood ; 
Hour after hour he loved to 

pore 560 

On Shakespeare's rich and varied 

lore, 
But turned from martial scenes 

and light, 
From Falstaff's feast and Percy's 

fight, 



312 



ROKEBY 



To ponder Jaques' moral strain, 
And muse with Hamlet, wise in 

vain, 
And weep himself to soft repose 
O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 

XXV 

In youth he sought not pleasures 

found 
By youth in horse and hawk and 

hound, 569 

But loved the quiet joys that wake 
By lonely stream and silent lake ; 
In Deepdale's solitude to lie, 
Where all is cliff and copse and 

sky; 
To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak, 
Or lone Pendragon's mound to 

seek. 
Such was his wont ; and there his 

dream 
Soared on some wild fantastic 

theme 
Of faithful love or ceaseless spring, 
Till Contemplation's wearied wing 
The enthusiast could no more sus- 
tain, 580 
And sad he sunk to earth again. 

XXVI 

He loved — as many a lay can tell, 
Preserved in Stanmore's lonely 

dell; 
For his was minstrel's skill, he 

caught 
The art unteachable, untaught; 
He loved — his soul did nature 

frame 
For love, and fancy nursed the 

flame; 
Vainly he loved — for seldom 

swain 
Of such soft mould is loved again ; 
Silent he loved — in every gaze 590 
Was passion, friendship in his 

phrase ; 
So mused his life away — till died 
His brethren all, their father's 

pride. 
Wilfred is now the only heir 
Of all his stratagems and care, 



And destined darkling to pursue 
Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue. 

XXVII 

Wilfrid must love and woo the 
bright 

Matilda, heir of "Rokeby's knight. 

To love her was an easy hest, 600 

The secret empress of his breast; 

To woo her was a harder task 

To one that durst not hope or ask. 

Yet all Matilda could she gave 

In pity to her gentle slave ; 

Friendship, esteem, and fair re- 
gard, 

And praise, the poet's best re- 
ward ! 

She read the tales his taste ap- 
proved, 

And sung the lays he framed or 
loved ; 609 

Yet, loath to nurse the fatal flame 

Of hopeless love in friendship's 
name, 

In kind caprice she oft withdrew 

The favoring glance to friendship 
due, 

Then grieved to see her victim's 
pain, 

And gave the dangerous smiles 
again. 

XXVIII 

So did the suit of WiJfrid stand 
When war's loud summons waked 

the land. 
Three banners, floating o'er the 

Tees, 
The woe-foreboding peasant sees ; 
In concert oft they braved of old 
The bordering Scot's incursion 
bold: 621 

Frowning defiance in their pride, 
Their vassals now and lords di- 
vide. 
From his fair hall on Greta banks, 
The Knight of Rokeby led his 

ranks, 
To aid the valiant northern earls 
Who drew the sword for royal 
Charles. 



CANTO FIRST 



313 



Mortham, by marriage near al- 
lied,— 
His sister had been Rokeby's 
bride, 629 

Though long before the civil fray 
In peaceful grave the lady lay, — 
Philip of Mortham raised his band, 
And marched at Fairfax's com- 
mand ; 
While Wycliffe, bound by many a 

train 
Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
Less prompt to brave the bloody 

field, 
Made Barnard's battlements his 

shield, 
Secured them with his Lunedale 

powers, 
And for the Commons held the 
towers. 

XXIX 

The lovely heir of Rokeby's 

Knight 640 

Waits in his halls the event of 

fight; 
For England's war revered the 

claim 
Of every unprotected name, 
And spared amid its fiercest rage 
Childhood and womanhood and 

age, 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, 
Must the dear privilege forego, 
By Greta's side in evening gray, 
To steal upon Matilda's way, 
Striving with fond hypocrisy 650 
For careless step and vacant eye ; 
Calming each anxious look and 

glance, 
To give the meeting all to chance, 
Or framing as a fair excuse 
The book, the pencil, or the muse ; 
Something to give, to sing, to 

say, 
Some modern tale, some ancient 

lay, 
Then, while the longed-for minutes 

last, — 
Ah ! minutes quickly over-past! — 
Recording each expression free 660 



Of kind or careless courtesy, 
Each friendly look, each softer 

tone, 
As food for fancy when alone. 
All this is o'er — but still unseen 
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood 

green, 
To watch Matilda's wonted round, 
While springs his heart at every 

sound. 
She comes ! — 't is but a passing 

sight, 
Yet serves to cheat his weary 

night ; 
She comes not — he will w r ait the 

hour 670 

When her lamp lightens in the 

tower ; 
T is something yet if, as she 

past, 
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
' What is my life, my hope ? ' he 

said ; 
* Alas ! a transitory shade.' 

XXX 

Thus wore his life, though reason 

strove 
For mastery in vain with love, 
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
Of present woe and ills to come, 
While still he turned impatient 

ear 
From Truth's intrusive voice se- 
vere. 681 
Gentle, indifferent, and subdued, 
In all but this unmoved he viewed 
Each outward change of ill and 

good : 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild, 
Was Fancy's spoiled and wayward 

child ; 
In her bright car she bade him 

ride, 
With one fair form to grace his 

side, 
Or, in some wild and lone retreat, 
Flung her high spells around his 

seat, 690 

Bathed in her dews his languid 

head, 



3H 



ROKEBY 



Her fairy mantle o'er him spread, 
For him her opiates gave to 

flow, 
Which he who tastes can ne'er 

forego, 
And placed him in her circle, free 
From every stern reality, 
Till to the Visionary seem 
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a 

dream. 

XXXI 

Woe to the youth whom Fancy 

gains, 
Winning from Reason's hand the 

reins, 700 

Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
Is soft, contemplative, and kind ; 
And woe to those who train such 

youth, 
And spare to press the rights of 

truth, 
The mind to strengthen and an- 
neal 
While on the stithy glows the 

steel ! 
O teach him while your lessons 

last 
To judge the present by the past ; 
Remind him of each wish pur- 
sued, 
How rich it glowed with promised 

good; 710 

Remind him of each wish enjoyed, 
How soon his hopes possession 

cloyed ! 
Tell him we play unequal game 
Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's 

aim; 
And, ere he strip him for her 

race, 
Show the conditions of the chase : 
Two sisters by the goal are set, 
Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
One disenchants the winner's 

eyes, 
And strips of all its worth the 

prize. 720 

While one augments its gaudy 

show, 



More to enhance the loser's woe. 
The victor sees his fairy gold 
Transformed when won to drossy 

mould, 
But still the vanquished mourns 

his loss, 
And rules as gold that glittering 

dross. 

XXXII 

More would st thou know — yon 

tower survey, 
Yon couch unpressed since parting 

day, 
Yon yuntrimmed lamp, whose yel- 
low gleam 
Is mingling with the cold moon- 
beam, 730 
And yon thin form ! — the hectic 

red 
On his pale cheek unequal spread ; 
The head reclined, the loosened 

hair, 
The limbs relaxed, the mournful 

air.— 
See, he looks up ; — a wof ul smile 
Lightens his woe-worn cheek a 

while,— 
'T is Fancy wakes some idle 

thought, 
To gild the ruin she has wrought; 
For, like the bat of Indian brakes, 
Her pinions fan the wound she 

makes, 740 

And, soothing thus the dreamer's 

pain, 
She drinks his life-blood from the 

vein. 
Now to the lattice turn his eyes, 
Vain hope ! to see the sun arise. 
The moon with clouds is still o'er- 

cast, 
Still howls by fits the stormy 

blast ; 
Another hour must wear away 
Ere the east kindle into day, 
And hark! to waste that weary 

hour, 
He tries the minstrel's magic 

power. 750 



CANTO SECOND 



315 



XXXIII 

SONG 

TO THE MOON 

Hail to thy cold and clouded 
beam, 
Pale pilgrim of the troubled 
sky! 
Hail, though the mists that o'er 
thee stream 
Lend to thy brow their sullen 
dye! 
How should thy pure and peaceful 
eye 
Untroubled view our scenes be- 
low, 
Or how a tearless beam supply 
To light a world of war and woe ! 

Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee 
now, 
As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
Each little cloud that dimmed thy 
brow 761 

Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
And of the shades I then could 
chide 
Still are the thoughts to memory 
dear, 
For, while a softer strain I tried, 
They hid my blush and calmed 
my fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 
Was formed to light some lonely 
dell, 
By two fond lovers only seen, 

Reflected from the crystal well ; 

Or sleeping on their mossy cell, 77 t 

Or quivering on the lattice 

bright, 

Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer 

night ! 

XXXIV 

He starts — a step at this lone 

hour ! 
A voice! — his father seeks the 

tower, 



With haggard look and troubled 
sense, 

Fresh from his dreadful confer- 
ence. 

' Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep ad- 
dressed? 

Thou hast no cares to chase thy 
rest. 780 

Mortham has fallen on Marston- 
moor ; 

Bertram brings warrant to secure 

His treasures, bought by spoil and 
blood, 

For the state's use and public 
good. 

The menials will thy voice obey ; 

Let his commission have its way, 

In every point, in every word.' 

Then, in a whisper, — 4 Take thy 
sword ! 

Bertram is — what I must not tell. 

I hear his hasty step — fare- 
well ! ' 790 



CANTO SECOND 



Fab in the chambers of the west, 
The gale had sighed itself to rest ; 
The moon was cloudless now and 

clear, 
But pale and soon to disappear. 
The thin gray clouds waxed dimly 

light 
On Brusleton and Houghton 

height ; 
And the rich dale that eastward 

lay 
Waited the wakening touch of day, 
To give its woods and cultured 

plain, 
And towers and spires, to light 

again. 10 

But, westward, Stanmore's shape- 

less swell, 
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton- 

fell, 
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar, 
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; 
While, as a livelier twilight falls, 



3 l6 



ROKEBY 



Emerge proud Barnard's bannered 

walls. 
High crowned he sits in dawning 

pale, 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 

ii 

What prospects from his watch- 
tower high 
Gleam gradual on the warder's 

eye!— 20 

Far sweeping to the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course 

of Tees, 
And tracks his wanderings by the 

steam 
Of summer vapors from the stream ; 
And ere he pace his destined hour 
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower, 
These silver mists shall melt away 
And dew the woods with glittering- 
spray. 
Then in broad lustre shall be 

shown 29 

That mighty trench of living stone, 
And each huge trunk that from 

the side 
Reclines him o'er the darksome 

tide 
Where Tees, full many a fathom 

low, 
Wears with his rage no common 

foe; 
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed 

here, 
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce 

career, 
Condemned to mine a channelled 

way 
O'er solid sheets of marble gray. 

in 

Nor Tees alone in dawning bright 
Shall rush upon the ravished sight ; 
But many a tributary stream 4 1 
Each from its own dark dell shall 

gleam : 
Staindrop, who from her sylvan 

bowers 
Salutes proud Raby's battled 

towers ; 



The rural brook of Egliston, 
And Balder, named from Odin's 

son; 
And Greta, to whose banks ere 

long 
We lead the lovers of the song ; 
And silver Lune from Stanmore 

wild, 
And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring 

child, 50 

And last and least, but loveliest 

still, 
Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 
Who in that dim-wood glen hath 

strayed, 
Yet longed for Roslin's magic 

glade ? 
Who, wandering there, hath sought 

to change 
Even for that vale so stern and 

strange 
Where Cartland's crags, fantastic 

rent, 
Through her green copse like 

spires are sent? 
Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine, 
Thy scenes and story to combine ! 
Thou bid'st him who by Roslin 

strays 61 

List to the deeds of other days ; 
Mid Cartland's crags thou show'st 

the cave, 
The refuge of thy champion brave ; 
Giving each rock its storied tale, 
Pouring a lay for every dale, 
Knitting, as with a moral band, 
Thy native legends with thy land, 
To lend each scene the interest 

high 
Which genius beams from Beauty's 



eye. 



7° 



IV 



Bertram awaited not the sight 
Which sunrise shows from Bar- 
nard's height, 
Bat from the towers, preventing 

day, 
With Wilfrid took his early way, 
While misty dawn and moonbeam 
pale 



CANTO SECOND 



3*7 



Still mingled in the silent dale. 
By Barnard's bridge of stately 

stone 
The southern bank of Tees they 

won; 
Their winding path then eastward 

cast, 79 

And Egliston's gray ruins passed ; 
Each on his own deep visions 

bent, 
Silent and sad they onward went. 
Well may you think that Bertram's 

mood 
To Wilfrid savage seemed and 

rude ; 
Well may you think bold Rising- 
ham 
Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and 

tame ; 
And small the intercourse, I ween. 
Such uncongenial souls between. 



Stern Bertram shunned the nearer 
way 

Through Rokeby's park and chase 
that lay, 90 

And, skirting high the valley's 
ridge, 

They crossed by Greta's ancient 
bridge, 

Descending where her waters wind 

Free for a space and unconfined 

As, 'scaped from Brignall's dark- 
wood glen, 

She seeks wild Mortham's deeper 
den. 

There, as his eye glanced o'er the 
mound 

Raised by that Legion long re- 
nowned 

Whose votive shrine asserts their 
claim 99 

Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, 

'Stern sons of war:' sad Wilfrid 
sighed, 

' Behold the boast of Soman pride ! 

What now of all your toils are 
known ? 

A grassy trench, a broken 
stone ! ' — 



This to himself; for moral strain 
To Bertram were addressed in 

vain. 

vr 

Of different mood a deeper sigh 
Awoke when Rokeby's turrets 

high 
Were northward in the dawning 

seen 109 

To rear them o'er the thicket green. 
then, though Spenser's self had 

strayed 
Beside him through the lovely 

glade, 
Lending his rich luxuriant glow 
Of fancy all its charms to show, 
Pointing the stream rejoicing free 
As captive set at liberty. 
Flashing her sparkling waves 

abroad, 
And clamoring joyful on her road ; 
Pointing where, up the sunny 

banks, 
The trees retire in scattered ranks 
Save where, advanced before the 

rest, 121 

On knoll or hillock rears his crest, 
Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 
As champions when their band is 

broke 
Stand forth to guard the rearward 

post, 
The bulwark of the scattered 

host — 
All this and more might Spenser 

say, 
Yet waste in vain his magic lay, 
While Wilfrid eyed the distant 

tower 
Whose lattice lights Matilda's 

bower. 130 

VII 

The open vale is soon passed o'er, 

Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no 

more ; 
Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 
A wild and darker course they 

keep, 
A stern and lone yet lovely road 



3i8 



ROKEBY 



As e'er the foot of minstrel trode ! 
Broad shadows o'er their passage 

fell, 
Deeper and narrower grew the 

dell; 
It seemed some mountain, rent 

and riven, 
A channel for the stream had 

given, 140 

So high the cliffs of limestone gray 
Hung beetling o'er the torrent's 

way, 
Yielding along their rugged base 
A flinty footpath's niggard space, 
Where he who winds 'twixt rock 

and wave 
May hear the headlong torrent 

rave, 
And like a steed in frantic fit, 
That flings the froth from curb 

and bit, 
May view her chafe her waves to 

spray 
O'er every rock that bars her way, 
Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, 
Thick as the schemes of human 

pride 152 

That down life's current drive 

amain, 
As frail, as frothy, and as vain ! 

VIII 

The cliffs that rear their haughty 
head 

High o'er the river's darksome 
bed 

Were now all naked, wild, and 
gray, 

Now waving all with greenwood 
spray, 

Here trees to every crevice clung 

And o'er the dell their branches 
hung ; 160 

And there, all splintered and un- 
even, 

The shivered rocks ascend to hea- 
ven; 

Oft, too, the ivy swathed their 
breast 

And wreathed its garland round 
their crest, 



Or from the spires bade loosely 

flare 
Its tendrils in the middle air. 
As pennons wont to wave of old 
O'er the high feast of baron bold, 
When revelled loud the feudal rout 
And the arched halls returned 

their shout, 170 

Such and more wild is Greta's 

roar, 
And such the echoes from her 

shore, 
And so the ivied banners gleam, 
Waved wildly o'er the brawling 

stream. 

IX 

Now from the stream the rocks re- 
cede, 
But leave between no sunny mead, 
No, nor the spot of pebbly sand 
Oft found by such a mountain 

strand, 
Forming such warm and dry re- 
treat 
As fancy deems the lonely seat 
Where hermit, wandering from his 
cell, 181 

His rosary might love to tell. 
But here 'twixt rock and river 

grew 
A dismal grove of sable yew, 
With whose sad tints were min- 
gled seen 
The blighted fir's sepulchral green. 
Seemed that the trees their shad- 
ows cast 
The earth that nourished them to 

blast ; 
For never knew that swarthy 

grove 
The verdant hue that fairies love, 
Nor wilding green nor woodland 
flower 191 

Arose within its baleful bower : 
The dank and sable earth receives 
Its only carpet from the leaves 
That, from the withering branches 

cast, 
Bestrewed the ground with every 
blast. 



CANTO SECOND 



3*9 



Though now the sun was o'er the 

hill, 
In this dark spot 't was twilight 

still, 
Save that on Greta's farther side 
Some straggling beams through 

eopsewood glide; 200 

And wild and savage contrast 

made 
That dingle's deep and funeral 

shade 
With the bright tints of early day, 
Which, glimmering through the 

ivy spray, 
On the opposing summit lay. 



The lated peasant shunned the 

dell ; 
For Superstition wont to tell 
Of many a grisly sound and sight, 
Scaring its path at dead of night. 
When Christmas logs blaze high 
and wide 210 

Such wonders speed the festal tide, 
While Curiosity and Fear, 
Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching 

near, 
Till childhood's cheek no longer 

glows, 
And village maidens lose the rose. 
The thrilling interest rises higher, 
The circle closes nigh and nigher, 
And shuddering glance is cast be- 
hind, 
As louder moans the wintry wind. 
Believe that fitting scene was laid 
For such wild tales in Mortham 
glade ; 221 

For who had seen on Greta's side 
By that dim light fierce Bertram 

stride, 
In such a spot, at such an hour, — 
If touched by Superstition's power. 
Might well have deemed that Hell 

had given 
A murderer's ghost to upper hea- 
ven, 
While Wilfrid's form had seemed 
to glide 228 

Like his pale victim by his side. 



XI 

Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these unearthly terrors known, 
For not to rank nor sex confined 
Is this vain ague of the mind ; 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble 

hard, 
'Gainst faith and love and pity 

barred, 
Have quaked, like aspen leaves in 

May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bertram had listed many a tale 
Of wonder in his native dale, 239 
That in his secret soul retained 
The credence they in childhood 

gained : 
Nor less his wild adventurous 

youth 
Believed in every legend's truth ; 
Learned when beneath the tropic 

gale 
Full swelled the vessel's steady 

sail, 
And the broad Indian moon her 

light 
Poured on the watch of middle 

night, 
When seamen love to hear and tell 
Of portent, prodigy, and spell : 
What gales are sold on Lapland's 

shore, 250 

How whistle rash bids tempests 

roar, 
Of witch, of mermaid, and of 

sprite, 
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light; 
Or of that Phantom Ship whose 

form 
Shoots like a meteor through the 

storm 
When the dark scud comes driv- 
ing hard, 
And lowered is every top- sail 

yard, 
And canvas wove in earthly 

looms 
No more to brave the storm pre- 



sumes 



259 



Then mid the war of sea and sky, 
Top and top-gallant hoisted high, 



320 



ROKEBY 



Full spread and crowded every 

sail, 
The Demon Frigate braves the 

gale, 
And well the doomed spectators 

know * 

The harbinger of wreck and woe. 

XII 

Then, too, were told in stifled tone 
Marvels and omens all their own ; 
How, by some desert isle or key 
Where Spaniards wrought their 

cruelty, 269 

Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood, 
Strange nightly sounds of woe and 

fear 
Appalled the listening buccaneer, 
Whose light -armed shallop an- 
chored lay 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, the shriek of 

pain, 
Ring from the moonlight groves 

of cane ; 
The fierce adventurer's heart they 

scare, 
Who wearies memory for a prayer, 
Curses the roadstead, and with 

gale 280 

Of early morning lifts the sail, 
To give, in thirst of blood and prey, 
A legend for another bay. 

XIII 

Thus, as a man, a youth, a child, 
Trained in the mystic and the 

wild, 
With this on Bertram's soul at 

times 
Rushed a dark feeling of his 

crimes ; 
Such to his troubled soul their 

form 
As the pale Death-ship to the 

storm, 
And such their omen dim and 

dread 290 

As shrieks and voices of the dead. 
That pang, whose transitory force 



Hovered 'twixt horror and re- 
morse — 
That pang, perchance, his bosom 

pressed 
As Wilfrid sudden he addressed : 
' Wilfrid, this glen is never trod 
Until the sun rides high abroad, 
Yet twice have 1 beheld to-day 
A form that seemed to dog our 

way; 
Twice from my glance it seemed 

to flee 300 

And shroud itself by cliff or tree. 
How think'st thou?— Is our path 

waylaid ? 
Or hath thy sire my trust betrayed ? 
If so' — Ere, starting from his 

dream 
That turned upon a gentler theme, 
Wilfrid had roused him to reply, 
Bertram sprung forward, shouting 

high, 
4 Whate'er thou art, thou now shalt 

stand ! ' 
And forth he darted, sword in 

hand. 309 

XIV 

As bursts the levin in its wrath, 
He shot him down the sounding 

path ; 
Rock, wood, and stream rang 

wildly out 
To his loud step and savage shout 
Seems that the object of his race 
Hath scaled the cliffs ; his frantic 

chase 
Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis 

bent 
Right up the rock's tall battle- 
ment ; 
Straining each sinew to ascend, 
Foot, hand, and knee their aid 

must lend. 
Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay, 320 
Views from beneath his dreadful 

way: 
Now to the oak's warped roots he 

clings, 
Now trusts his weight to ivy 

strings ; 



CANTO SECOND 



321 



Now, like the wild-goat, must he 

dare 
An unsupported leap in air ; 
Hid in the shrubby rain-course now, 
You mark him by the crashing 

bough, 
And by his corselet's sullen clank, 
And by the stones spurned from 

the bank, 
And by the hawk scared from her 

nest, 330 

And raven's croaking o'er their 

guest, 
Who deem his forfeit limbs shall 

pay 
The tribute of his bold essay. 

xv 

See, he emerges ! — desperate now 
All farther course — yon beetling 

brow, 
In craggy nakedness sublime, 
What heart or foot shall dare to 

climb ? 
It bears no tendril for his clasp, 
Presents no angle to his grasp : 
Sole stay his foot may rest up- 
on 340 
Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 
Balanced on such precarious prop, 
He strains his grasp to reach the 

top. 
Just as the dangerous stretch he 

makes, 
By heaven, his faithless footstool 

shakes ! 
Beneath his tottering bulk it bends , 
It sways, it loosens, it descends, 
And downward holds its headlong 

way, 
Crashing o'er rock and copsewood 

spray ! 
Loud thunders shake the echoing 

dell! 350 

Fell it alone ?— alone it fell. 
Just on the very verge of fate, 
The hardy Bertram's falling 

weight 
He trusted to his sinewy hands, 
And on the top unharmed he 

stands ! 



XVI 

Wilfrid a safer path pursued, 

At intervals where, roughly 

hewed, 
Eude steps ascending from the 

dell 
Rendered the cliffs accessible. 
By circuit slow he thus attained 
The height that Risingham had 

gained, 361 

And when he issued from the wood 
Before the gate of Mortham stood. 
'T was a fair scene ! the sunbeam 

lay 
On battled tower and portal gray ,- 
And from the grassy slope he 

sees 
The Greta flow to meet the Tees 
Where, issuing from her darksome 

bed, 
She caught the morning's eastern 

red, 
And through the softening vale 

below 37° 

Rolled her bright waves in rosy 

glow, 
All blushing to her bridal bed, 
Like some shy maid in convent 

bred, 
While linnet, lark, and blackbird 

gay 
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 

XVII 

'Twas sweetly sung that rounde- 
lay, 

That summer morn shone blithe 
and gay ; 

But morning beam and wild-bird's 
call 

Awaked not Mortham' s silent 
hall. 379 

No porter by the low-browed gate 

Took in the wonted niche his seat ; 

To the paved court no peasant 
drew ; 

Waked to their toil no menial 
crew ; 

The maiden's carol was not heard, 

As to her morning task she fared : 

In the void offices around 



322 



ROKEBY 



Rung not a hoof nor bayed a 
hound ; 

Nor eager steed with shrilling 
neigh 

Accused the lagging groom's de- 
lay-, 

Untrimmed, undressed, neglected 
now, 390 

Was alleyed walk and orchard 
bough ; 

All spoke the master's absent care, 

All spoke neglect and disrepair. 

South of the gate an arrow flight, 

Two mighty elms their limbs unite 

As if a canopy to spread 

O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 

For their huge boughs in arches 
bent 

Above a massive monument, 399 

Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise 

With many a scutcheon and de- 
vice: 

There, spent with toil and sunk in 
gloom, 

Bertram stood pondering by the 
tomb. 

XVITI 

4 It vanished like a flitting ghost ! 

Behind this tomb,' he said, 4 't was 
lost — 

This tomb where oft I deemed lies 
stored 

Of Mortham's Indian wealth the 
hoard. 

'T is true, the aged servants said 

Here his lamented wife is laid ; 

But weightier reasons may be 
guessed 410 

For their lord's strict and stern 
behest 

That none should on his steps in- 
trude 

Whene'er he sought this solitude. 

An ancient mariner I knew, 

What time I sailed with Morgan's 
crew, 

Who oft mid our carousals spake 

Of Ealeigh, Frobisher, and Drake ; 

Adventurous hearts ! who bar- 
tered, bold, 



Their English steel for Spanish 

gold. 
Trust not, would his experience 

say, 420 

Captain or comrade with your 

prey, 
But seek some charnel, when, at 

full, 
The moon gilds skeleton and 

skull: 
There dig and tomb your precious 

heap, 
And bid the dead your treasure 

keep; 
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
Their service to the task com- 
pel. 
Lacks there such charnel ? — kill a 

slave 
Or prisoner on the treasure-grave, 
And bid his discontented ghost 430 
Stalk nightly on his lonely post. 
Such was his tale. Its truth, I 

ween, 
Is in my morning vision seen.' 

XIX 

Wilfrid, who scorned the legend 

wild, 
In mingled mirth and pity smiled, 
Much marvelling that a breast so 

bold 
In such fond tale belief should 

hold, 
But yet of Bertram sought to 

know 
The apparition's form and show. 
The power within the guilty 

breast, 440 

Oft vanquished, never quite sup- 
pressed, 
That unsubdued and lurking lies 
To take the felon by surprise 
And force him, as by magic spell, 
In his despite his guilt to tell — 
That power in Bertram's breast 

awoke ; 
Scarce conscious he was heard, 

he spoke ; 
4 'T was Mortham's form, from foot 

to head ! 



CANTO SECOND 



323 



His morion with the plume of red, 
His shape, his mien — 't was Mor- 
tmain, right 450 
As when I slew him in the fight.' — 
* Thou slay him ? — thou ? ' — With 

conscious start 
He heard, then manned his haugh- 
ty heart — 
1 1 slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot 
Thou, stripling, knew'st not of 

the plot. 
But it is spoken — nor will I 
Deed done or spoken word deny. 
I slew him; I! for thankless 

pride ; 
'T was by this hand that Mortham 
died.' 

xx 

Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart, 
Averse to every active part, 461 
But most averse to martial broil, 
From danger shrunk and turned 

from toil ; 
Yet the meek lover of the lyre 
Nursed one brave spark of noble 

fire; 
Against injustice, fraud, or wrong 
His blood beat high, his hand 

waxed strong. 
Not his the nerves that could sus- 
tain, 
Unshakeu, danger, toil, and pain; 
But, when that spark blazed forth 

to flame, 470 

He rose superior to his frame. 
And now it came, that generous 

mood ; 
And, in full current of his blood, 
On Bertram he laid desperate 

hand, 
Placed firm his foot, and drew his 

brand. 
1 Should every fiend to whom 

thou 'rt sold 
Rise in thine aid, I keep my 

hold.— 
Arouse there, ho ! take spear and 

sword ! 
Attach the murderer of your lord!' 



XXI 

A moment, fixed as by a spell, 480 
Stood Bertram — it seemed mira- 
cle, 
That one so feeble, soft, and tame 
Set grasp on warlike Eisingham. 
But when he felt a feeble stroke 
The fiend within the ruffian woke ! 
To wrench the sword from Wil- 
frid's hand, 
To dash him headlong on the sand, 
Was but one moment's work,— 

one more 
Had drenched the blade in Wil- 
frid's gore. 
But in the instant it arose 490 
To end his life, his love, his woes, 
A warlike form that marked the 

scene 
Presents his rapier sheathed be- 
tween, 
Parries the fast-descending blow, 
And steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his 

foe; 
Nor then unscabbarded his brand, 
But, sternly pointing with his 

hand, 
With monarch's voice forbade the 

fight, 
And motioned Bertram from his 

sight. 
' Go, and repent,' he said, ' while 
time 5°° 

Is given thee; add not crime to 
crime.' 

XXII 

Mute and uncertain and amazed, 
As on a vision Bertram gazed ! 
'T was Mortham' s bearing, bold 

and high, 
His sinewy frame, his falcon eye, 
His look and accent of command, 
The martial gesture of his hand, 
His stately form, spare-built and 

tall, 
His war-bleached locks — 't w r as 

Mortham all. 
Through Bertram's dizzy brain 

career 5*0 



324 



ROKEBY 



A thousand thoughts, and all of 

fear ; 
His wavering faith received not 

quite 
The form he saw as Mortham's 

sprite, 
But more he feared it if it stood 
His lord in living flesh and blood. 
What spectre can the charnel send, 
So dreadful as an injured friend ? 
Then, too, the habit of command, 
Used by the leader of the band 
When Risingham for many a 

day 520 

Had marched and fought beneath 

his sway, 
Tamed him — and with reverted 

face 
Backwards he bore his sullen 

pace, 
Oft stopped, and oft on Mortham 

stared, 
And dark as rated mastiff glared, 
But when the tramp of steeds was 

heard, 
Plunged in the glen and disap- 
peared ; 
Nor longer there the warrior stood, 
Retiring eastward through the 

wood, 
But first to Wilfrid warning 

gives, 530 

1 Tell thou to none that Mortham 

lives.' 

XXIII 

Still rung these words in Wilfrid's 

ear, 
Hinting he knew not what of fear, 
When nearer came the coursers' 

tread, 
And, with his father at their head, 
Of horsemen armed a gallant 

power 
Reined up their steeds before the 

tower. 
* Whence these pale looks, my 

son ? ' he said : 
' Where 's Bertram ? Why that 

naked blade ? ' 
Wilfrid ambiguously replied— 540 



For Mortham's charge his honor 

tied — 
'Bertram is gone — the villain's 

word 
Avouched him murderer of his 

lord ! 
Even now we fought — but when 

your tread 
Announced you nigh, the felon 

fled.' 

In Wycliffe's conscious eye ap- 
pear 

A guilty hope, a guilty fear ; 

On his pale brow the dewdrop 
broke, 

And his lip quivered as he spoke : 

XXIV 

'A murderer ! — Philip Mortham 
died 550 

Amid the battle's wildest tide. 

Wilfrid, or Bertram raves or you ! 

Yet, grant such strange confession 
true, 

Pursuit were vain — let him fly 
far — 

Justice must sleep in civil war.' 

A gallant youth rode near his 
side, 

Brave Rokeby's page, in battle 
tried ; 

That morn an embassy of weight 

He brought to Barnard's castle 
gate, 

And followed now in Wycliffe's 
train 560 

An answer for his lord to gain. 

His steed, whose arched and sable 
neck 

An hundred wreaths of foam be- 
deck, 

Chafed not against the curb more 
high 

Than he at Oswald's cold reply ; 

He bit his lip, implored his saint — 

His the old faith — then burst re- 
straint : 

XXV 

1 Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall 
By that base traitor's dastard ball 



CANTO SECOND 



325 



Just wh#n I thought to measure 

sword, 570 

Presumptuous hope ! with Mor- 
tmain's lord. 
And shall the murderer 'scape who 

slew 
His leader, generous, brave, and 

true ? 
Escape, while on the dew you 

trace 
The marks of his gigantic pace ? 
No! ere the sun that dew shall 

dry, 
False Risinghani shall yield or 

die.— 
Ring out the castle larum bell ! 
Arouse the peasants with the 

knell ! 
Meantime disperse — ride, gallants, 

ride ' 580 

Beset the wood on every side. 
But if among you one there be 
That honors Mortham's memory, 
Let him dismount and follow me ! 
Else on your crests sit fear and 

shame, 
And foul suspicion dog your name V 

XXVI 

Instant to earth young Redmond 
sprung ; 

Instant on earth the harness rung 

Of twenty men of Wycliffe's band, 

Who waited not their lord's com- 
mand. 590 

Redmond his spurs from buskins 
drew, 

His mantle from his shoulders 
threw, 

His pistols in his belt he placed, 

The green-wood gained, the foot- 
steps traced, 

Shouted like huntsman to his 
hounds, 

1 To cover, hark ! ' — and in he 
bounds. 

Scarce heard was Oswald's anx- 
ious cry, 

1 Suspicion ! yes — pursue him — 
fly- 

But venture not in useless strife 



On ruffian desperate of his life ; 600 
Whoever finds him shoot him dead ! 
Five hundred nobles for his head ! ' 

XXVII 

The horsemen galloped to make 

good 
Each path that issued from the 

wood. 
Loud from the thickets rung the 

shout 
Of Redmond and his eager rout ; 
With them was Wilfrid, stung 

with ire, 
And envying Redmond's martial 

fire, 
And emulous of fame. — But where 
Is Oswald, noble Mortham's 

heir? 610 

He, bound by honor, law, and 

faith, 
Avenger of his kinsman's death?— 
Leaning against the elmin tree, 
With drooping head and slackened 

knee, 
And clenched teeth, and close- 
clasped hands, 
In agony of soul he stands ! 
His downcast eye on earth is bent, 
His soul to every sound is lent; 
For in each shout that cleaves the 

air 
May ring discovery and despair. 

XXTIII 

What 'vailed it him that brightly 

played 62 1 

The morning sun on Mortham's 

glade ? 
All seems in giddy round to ride, 
Like objects on a stormy tide 
Seen eddying by the moonlight 

dim, 
Imperfectly to sink and swim. 
What 'vailed it that the fair do- 
main, 
Its battled mansion, hill, and plain, 
On which the sun so brightly 
shone, 
I Envied so long, was now his own ? 
I The lowest dungeon, in that hour, 



326 



ROKEBY 



Of Brackenbury's dismal tower, 632 
Had been his choice, could such a 

doom 
Have opened Mortham's bloody 

tomb! 
Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear 
To each surmise of hope or fear, 
Murmured among the rustics 

round, 
Who gathered at the larum sound. 
He dare not turn his head away, 
Even to look up to heaven to pray, 
Or call on hell in bitter mood 641 
For one sharp death-shot from the 

wood! 

XXIX 

At length o'erpast that dreadful 
space, 

Back straggling came the scat- 
tered chase ; 

Jaded and weary, horse and man, 

Returned the troopers one by one. 

Wilfrid the last arrived to say 

All trace was lost of Bertram's 
way, 

Though Redmond still up Brignall 
wood 

The hopeless quest in vain pur- 
sued. 650 

O, fatal doom of human race ! 

What tyrant passions passions 
chase ! 

Remorse from Oswald's brow is 
gone, 

Avarice and pride resume their 
throne ; 

The pang of instant terror by, 

They dictate thus their slave's re- 
ply: 

XXX 

•Ay — let him range like hasty 
hound ! 

And if the grim wolf's lair be 
found, 

Small is my care how goes the 
game 

With Redmond or with Rising- 
ham.— 660 

Nay, answer not, thou simple boy ! 



Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 
To thee, is of another mood 
To that bold youth of Erin's blood. 
Thy ditties will she freely praise, 
And pay thy pains with courtly 

phrase ; 
In a rough path will oft com- 
mand — 
Accept at least — thy friendly 

hand; 
His she avoids, or, urged and 

prayed, 
Unwilling takes his proffered aid, 
While conscious passion plainly 

speaks 671 

In downcast look and blushing 

cheeks. 
Whene'er he sings will she glide 

nigh, 
And all her soul is in her eye ; 
Yet doubts she still to tender free 
The wonted words of courtesy. 
These are strong signs ! — yet 

wherefore sigh, 
And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ? 
Thine shall she be, if thou attend 
The counsels of thy sire and 

friend. 680 

XXXI 

' Scarce wert thou gone, when peep 

of light 
Brought genuine news of Mars- 
ton's fight. 
Brave Cromwell turned the doubt- 
ful tide, 
And conquest blessed the rightful 

side; 
Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 
Rupert and that bold Marquis fled ; 
Nobles and knights, so proud of 

late, 
Must fine for freedom and estate. 
Of these committed to my charge 
Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 690 
Redmond his page arrived to say 
He reaches Barnard's towers to- 
day. 
Right heavy shall his ransom be 
Unless that maid compound with 
thee J 



CANTO THIRD 



3 2 7 



Go to her now — be bold of cheer 
While her soul floats 'twixt hope 

and fear ; 
It is the very change of tide, 
When best the female heart is 

tried — 
Pride, prejudice, and modesty, 
Are in the current swept to sea, 700 
And the bold swain who plies his 

oar 
May lightly row his bark to shore.' 



CANTO THIRD 



The hunting tribes of air and 

earth 
Respect the brethren of their 

birth ; 
Nature, who loves the claim of 

kind, 
Less cruel chase to each assigned. 
The falcon, poised on soaring wing, 
Watches the wild-duck by the 

spring ; 
The slow-hound wakes the fox*s 

lair; 
The greyhound presses on the 

hare; 
The eagle pounces on the lamb ; 
The wolf devours the fleecy dam : 
Even tiger fell and sullen bear 1 1 
Their likeness and their lineage 

spare ; 
Man only mars kind Nature's plan, 
And turns the fierce pursuit on 

man, 
Plying war's desultory trade, 
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, 
Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son, 
At first the bloody game begun. 

n 

The Indian, prowling for his prey, 
Who hears the settlers track his 

way, 20 

And knows in distant forest far 
Camp his red brethren of the 

war — 



He, when each double and dis- 
guise 

To baffle the pursuit he tries, 

Low crouching now his head to 
hide 

Where swampy streams through 
rushes glide, 

Now covering with the withered 
leaves 

The foot-prints that the dew re- 
ceives — 

He, skilled in every sylvan guile, 

Knows not, nor tries, such various 
wile 30 

As Risingham when on the wind 

Arose the loud pursuit behind. 

In Redesdale his youth had heard 

Each art her wily dalesman dared, 

When Rooken-edge and Redswair 
high 

To bugle rung and blood-hound's 
cry, 

Announcing Jedwood-axe and 
spear, 

And Lid'sdale riders in the rear; 

And well his venturous life had 
proved 

The lessons that his childhood 
loved. 40 

in 

Oft had he shown in climes afar 
Each attribute of roving war ; 
The sharpened ear, the piercing 

eye, 
The quick resolve in danger nigh; 
The speed that in the flight or 

chase 
Outstripped the Charib's rapid 

race; 
The steady brain, the sinewy 

limb, 
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ; 
The iron frame, inured to bear 
Each dire inclemency of air, 50 
Nor less confirmed to undergo 
Fatigue's faint chill and famine's 

throe. 
These arts he proved, his life to 

save, 
In peril oft by land and wave, 



328 



ROKEBY 



On Arawaca's desert shore, 

Or where La Plata's billows roar, 

When oft the sons of vengeful 

Spain 
Tracked the marauder's steps in 

vain. 
These arts, in Indian warfare 

tried, 
Must save him now by Greta's 

side. 60 

IV 

'T was then, in hour of utmost 

need, 
He proved his courage, art, and 

speed. 
Now slow he stalked with stealthy 

pace, 
Now started forth in rapid race, 
Oft doubling back in mazy train 
To blind the trace the dews retain ; 
Now clomb the rocks projecting 

high 
To baffle the pursuer's eye ; 
Now sought the stream, whose 

brawling sound 69 

The echo of his footsteps drowned. 
But if the forest verge he nears, 
There trample steeds, and glim- 
mer spears ; 
If deeper down the copse he drew, 
He heard the rangers' loud halloo, 
Beating each cover while they 

came, 
As if to start the sylvan game. 
♦T was then — like tiger close be- 
set 
At every pass with toil and net, 
'Countered where'er he turns his 

glare 
By clashing arms and torches' 

flare, 80 

Who meditates with furious bound 
To burst on hunter, horse and 

hound — 
'T was then that Bertram's soul 

arose, 
Prompting to rush upon his foes : 
But as that crouching tiger, cowed 
By brandished steel and shouting 

crowd, 



Retreats beneath the jungle's 

shroud, 
Bertram suspends his purpose 

stern, 
And crouches in the brake and 

fern, 
Hiding his face lest foemen spy 90 
The sparkle of his swarthy eye. 



Then Bertram might the bearing 

trace 
Of the bold youth who led the 

chase ; 
Who paused to list for every 

sound, 
Climbed every height to look 

around, 
Then rushing on with naked 

sword, 
Each dingle's bosky depths ex- 
plored. 
'T was Redmond — by the azure 

eye; 
'T was Redmond — by the locks 

that fly 
Disordered from his glowing 

cheek ; 100 

Mien, face, and form young Red- 
mond speak. 
A form more active, light, and 

strong, 
Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ; 
The modest yet the manly mien 
Might grace the court of maiden 

queen : 
A face more fair you well might 

find, 
For Redmond's knew the sun and 

wind, 
Nor boasted, from their tinge when 

free, 
The charm of regularity ; 109 

But every feature had the power 
To aid the expression of the hour: 
Whether gay wit and humor sly 
Danced laughing in his light-blue 

eye, 
Or bended brow and glance of fire 
And kindling cheek spoke Erin's 

ire, 



CANTO THIRD 



3 2 9 



Or soft aud saddened glances show 
Her ready sympathy with woe ; 
Or in that wayward mood of mind 
When various feelings are com- 
bined, 119 
When joy and sorrow mingle near, 
And hope's bright wings are 

checked by fear, 
And rising doubts keep transport 

down, 
And anger lends a short-lived 

frown ; 
In that strange mood which maids 

approve 
Even when they dare not call it 

love — 
With every change his features 

played, 
As aspens show the light and 

shade, 

VI 

Well Risingham young Redmond 

knew, 
And much he marvelled that the 

crew, 
Roused to revenge bold Mortham 

dead 130 

Were by that Morthain's foeman 

led; 
For never felt his soul the woe 
That wails a generous foeman 

low, 
Far less that sense of justice 

strong 
That wreaks a generous foeman' s 

wrong. 
But small his leisure now to pause ; 
Redmond is first, whate'er the 

cause : 
And twice that Redmond came so 

near 
Where Bertram couched like 

hunted deer, 
The very boughs his steps dis- 
place 140 
Rustled against the ruffian's face, 
Who desperate twice prepared to 

start, 
And plunge his dagger in his 

heart ! 



But Redmond turned a different 

way, 
And the bent boughs resumed 

their sway, 
And Bertram held it wise, un- 
seen, 
Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, 
When roving hunters beat the 

brake, 
Watches with red and glistening 

eye, 150 

Prepared, if heedless step draw 

nigh, 
With forked tongue and venomed 

fang 
Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 
But if the intruders turn aside, 
Away his coils unfolded glide, 
And through the deep savannah 

wind, 
Some undisturbed retreat to find. 

VII 

But Bertram, as he backward drew, 
And heard the loud pursuit re- 

new, 
And Redmond's hollo on the wind, 
Oft muttered in his savage mind — 
1 Redmond O'Neale ! were thou 

and I 162 

Alone this day's event to try, 
With not a second here to see 
But the gray cliff and oaken tree, 
That voice of thine that shouts so 

loud 
Should ne'er repeat its summons 

proud ! 
No ! nor e'er try its melting power 
Again in maiden's summer bower.' 
Eluded, now behind him die 170 
Faint and more faint each hostile 

cry; 
He stands in Scargill wood alone, 
Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive 

cry, 
Or Greta's sound that murmurs 

by; 
And on the dale, so lone and wild, 
The summer sun in quiet smiled. 



33° 



ROKEBY 



VIII 

He listened long with anxious 

heart, 
Ear bent to hear and foot to start, 
And, while his stretched attention 

glows, 180 

Refused his weary frame repose. 
? T was silence all — he laid him 

down, 
Where purple heath profusely 

strown, 
And throatwort with its azure 

bell, 
And moss and thyme his cushion 

swell. 
There, spent with toil, he listless 

eyed 
The course of Greta's playful tide ; 
Beneath her banks now eddying 

dun, 188 

Now brightly gleaming to the sun, 
As, dancing over rock and stone, 
In yellow light her currents shone, 
Matching in hue the favorite gem 
Of Al bin's mountain-diadem. 
Then, tired to watch the currents 

Play, 
He turned his weary eyes away 
To where the bank opposing 

showed 
Its huge, square cliffs through 

shaggy wood. 
One, prominent above the rest, 
Reared to the sun its pale gray 

breast; 199 

Around its broken summit grew 
The hazel rude and sable yew ; 
A thousand varied lichens dyed 
Its waste and weather-beaten side, 
And round its rugged basis lay, 
By time or thunder rent away, 
Fragments that from its frontlet 

torn 
Were mantled now by verdant 

thorn. 
Such was the scene's wild majesty 
That filled stern Bertram's gazing 

eye. 

IX 

In sullen mood he lay reclined, 210 
Revolving in his stormy mind 



The felon deed, the fruitless guilt, 

His patron's blood by treason 
spilt ; 

A crime, it seemed, so dire and 
dread 

That it had power to wake the 
dead. 

Then, pondering on his life be- 
trayed 

By Oswald's art to Redmond's 
blade, 

In treacherous purpose to with- 
hold, 

So seemed it, Mortham's promised 
gold, 

A deep and full revenge he vowed 

On Redmond, forward, fierce, and 
proud; 221 

Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire 

Redoubled vengeance, swift and 
dire ! — 

If, in such mood — as legends say, 

And well believed that simple 
day — 

The Enemy of Man has power 

To profit by the evil hour, 

Here stood a wretch prepared to 
change 

His soul's redemption for revenge ! 

But though his vows with such a 
fire 230 

Of earnest and intense desire 

For vengeance dark and fell were 
made 

As well might reach hell's lowest 
shade, 

No deeper clouds the grove em- 
browned, 

No nether thunders shook the 
ground ; 

The demon knew his vassal's heart, 

And spared temptation's needless 
art. 

x 

Oft, mingled with the direful 

theme, 
Came Mortham's form — was it a 

dream? 
Or had he seen in vision true 240 
That very Mortham whom he slew? 
Or had in living flesh appeared 



CANTO THIRD 



331 



The only man on earth he 

feared? — 
To try the mystic cause intent, 
His eyes that on the cliff were 

bent 
Countered at once a dazzling 

glance, 
Like sunbeam flashed from sword 

or lance. 
At once he started as for fight, 
But not a foeman was in sight ; 
He heard the cushat's murmur 

hoarse, 250 

He heard the river's sounding 

course ; 
The solitary woodlands lay, 
As slumbering in the summer 

ray. 
He gazed, like lion roused, around, 
Then sunk again upon the ground. 
'T was but, he thought, some fitful 

beam, 
Glanced sudden from the sparkling 

stream ; 
Then plunged him in his gloomy 

train 
Of ill-connected thoughts again, 
Until a voice behind him cried, 260 
' Bertram ! well met on Greta side.' 

XI 

Instant his sword was in his hand, 
As instant sunk the ready brand ; 
Yet, dubious still, opposed he 

stood 
To him that issued from the wood : 
4 Guy Denzil !— is it thou?' he said ; 
1 Do we two meet in Scargill 

shade ! — 
Stand back a space ! — thy purpose 

show, 
Whether thou comest as friend or 

foe. 
Report hath said, that Denzil's 

name 270 

From Eokeby's band was razed 

with shame ' — 
' A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 
Who told his knight in peevish 

zeal 
Of my marauding on the clowns 



Of Calverley and Bradford downs. 
I reck not. In a war to strive, 
Where save the leaders none can 

thrive, 
Suits ill my mood; and better 

game 
Awaits us both, if thou 'rt the 

same 279 

Unscrupulous, bold Risingham 
W T ho w r atched with me in midnight 

dark 
To snatch a deer from Rokeby- 

park. 
How think'st thou? ' — ' Speak thy 

purpose out; 
I love not mystery or doubt' 

XII 

1 Then list. — Not far there lurk a 

crew 
Of trusty comrades stanch and 

true, 
Gleaned from both factions — 

Roundheads freed 
From cant of sermon and of creed 
And Cavaliers, wiiose souls like 

mine 289 

Spurn at the bonds of discipline. 
Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold 
A warfare of our ow r n to hold 
Than breathe our last on battle- 
down 
For cloak or surplice, mace or 

crown. 
Our schemes are laid, our purpose 

set, 
A chief and leader lack we yet. 
Thou art a wanderer, it is said, 
For Mortham's death thy steps 

waylaid, 
Thy head at price — so say our 

spies, 
Who ranged the valley in dis- 
guise. 300 
Join then with us: though wild 

debate 
And wrangling rend our infant 

state, 
Each, to an equal loath to bow, 
Will yield to chief renow r ned as 

thou.' — 



332 



ROKEBY 



XIII 

1 Even now,' thought Bertram, 
passion-stirred, 

*I called on hell, and hell has 
heard ! 

What lack I, vengeance to com- 
mand, 

But of stanch comrades such a 
band? 

This Denzil, vowed to every evil, 

Might read a lesson to the devil. 

Well, be it so ! each knave and 

fOOl 311 

Shall serve as my revenge's 
tool.' — 

Aloud, ■ I take thy proffer, Guy, 

But tell me where thy comrades 
lie.' 

1 Not far from hence,' Guy Denzil 
said; 

1 Descend and cross the river's bed 

Where rises yonder cliff so gray.' 

' Do thou,' said Bertram, ' lead the 
way.' 

Then muttered, * It is best make 
sure ; 

Guy Denzil's faith was never 
pure.' 320 

He followed down the steep de- 
scent, 

Then through the Greta's streams 
they went ; 

And when they reached the far- 
ther shore 

They stood the lonely cliff before. 

XIV 

With wonder Bertram heard 

within 
The flinty rock a murmured din ; 
But when Guy pulled the wilding 

spray 
And brambles from its base away, 
He saw appearing to the air 
A little entrance low and 

square, 330 

Like opening cell of hermit lone, 
Dark winding through the living 

stone. 
Here entered Denzil, Bertram 

here • 



And loud and louder on their ear, 
As from the bowels of the earth, 
Resounded shouts of boisterous 

mirth. 
Of old the cavern strait and rude 
In slaty rock the peasant hewed ; 
And Brignall's woods and Scar- 

gill's wave 
E'en now o'er many a sister 

cave, 340 

Where, far within the darksome 

rift, 
The wedge and lever ply their 

thrift. 
But war had silenced rural trade, 
And the deserted mine was made 
The banquet-hall and fortress too 
Of Denzil and his desperate crew. 
There Guilt his anxious revel kept, 
There on his sordid pallet slept 
Guilt-born Excess, the goblet 

drained 
Still in his slumbering grasp re- 
tained; 350 
Regret was there, his eye still cast 
With vain repining on the past ; 
Among the feasters waited near 
Sorrow and unrepentant Fear, 
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven, 
With his own crimes reproaching 

Heaven ; 
While Bertram showed amid the 

crew 
The Master-Fiend that Milton 

drew. 

xv 

Hark ! the loud revel wakes again 
To greet the leader of the train. 360 
Behold the group by the pale lamp 
That struggles with the earthy 

damp. 
By what strange features Vice 

hath known 
To single out and mark her own ! 
Yet some there are whose brows 

retain 
Less deeply stamped her brand 

and stain. 
See yon pale stripling! when a 

boy, 



CANTO THIRD 



333 



A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 
Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls 

reclined, 
An early image fills his mind : 370 
The cottage once his sire's he sees, 
Embowered upon the banks of 

Tees; 
He views sweet Winston's wood- 
land scene, 
And shares the dance on Gainford- 

green. 
A tear is springing — but the zest 
Of some wild tale or brutal jest 
Hath to loud laughter stirred the 

rest. 
On him they call, the aptest mate 
For jovial song and merry feat : 
Fast flies his dream — with daunt- 
less air, 380 
As one victorious o'er despair, 
He bids the ruddy cup go round 
Till sense and sorrow both are 

drowned ; 
And soon in merry wassail he, 
The life of all their revelry, 
Peals his loud song ! — The muse 

has found 
Her blossoms on the wildest 

ground, 
Mid noxious weeds at random 

strewed, 
Themselves all profitless and 

rude. — 
With desperate merriment he 
sung, 390 

The cavern to the chorus rung, 
Yet mingled with his reckless glee 
Remorse's bitter agony. 

XVI 

SONG 

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 

And Greta woods are green, 
And you may gather garlands 
there 

Would grace a summer queen. 
And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A maiden on the castle wall 400 

Was singing merrily, — 



chorus 

4 0, Brignall banks are fresh and 
fair, 
And Greta woods are green ; 
I 'd rather rove with Edmund 
there 
Than reign our English queen.' 

'If, maiden, thou wouldst wend 
with me, 
To leave both tower and town, 
Thou first must guess what life 
lead we 
That dwell by dale and down ? 
And if thou canst that riddle 
read, 410 

As read full well you may, 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou 
speed, 
As blithe as Queen of May.' 

CHORUS 

Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are 
fair, 
And Greta woods are green ; 

I 'd rather rove with Edmund 

there 
Than reign our English queen. 

XVII 

I I read you, by your bugle horn, 
And by your palfrey good, 

I read you for a ranger sworn 420 
To keep the king's greenwood.' 

' A ranger, lady, winds his horn, 
And 't is at peep of light ; 

His blast is heard at merry morn, 
And mine at dead of night.' 

CHORUS 

Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are 
fair, 
And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund 
there, 
To reign his Queen of May ! 

4 With burnished brand and mus- 
ketoon 430 

So gallantly you come, 



334 



ROKEBY 



I read you for a bold dragoon, 
That lists the tuck of drum.' 

I I list no more the tuck of drum, 
No more the trumpet hear ; 

But when the beetle sounds his 
hum, 
My comrades take the spear. 

CHORUS 

* And O, though Brignall banks be 
fair, 
And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden 
dare 440 

Would reign my Queen of May ! 

XVIII 

'Maiden l a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I '11 die ; 
The fiend whose lantern lights the 
mead 

Were better mate than I ! 
And when I 'm with my comrades 
met 

Beneath the greenwood bough, 
What once we were we all forget, 

Nor think what we are now. 

CHORUS 

4 Yet Brignall banks are fresh and 
fair, 450 

And Greta woods are green, 
And you may gather garlands 
there 
Would grace a summer queen.' 

When Edmund ceased his simple 

song, 
Was silence on the sullen throng, 
Till waked some ruder mate their 

glee 
With note of coarser minstrelsy. 
But far apart in dark divan, 
Denzil and Bertram many a plan 
Of import foul and fierce designed, 
While still on Bertram's grasping 

mind 461 

The wealth of murdered Mortham 

hung; 
Though half he feared his daring 

tongue, 



When it should give his wishes 

birth, 
Might raise a spectre from the 

earth ! 

XIX 

At length his wondrous tale he 

told; 
When scornful smiled his comrade 

bold, 
For, trained in license of a court, 
Keligion's self was Denzil's sport ; 
Then judge in what contempt he 

held 470 

The visionary tales of eld ! 
His awe for Bertram scarce re- 
pressed 
The unbeliever's sneering jest, 
4 'T were hard,' he said, * for sage 

or seer 
To spell the subject of your fear ; 
Nor do I boast the art renowned 
Vision and omen to expound. 
Yet, faith if I must needs afford 
To spectre watching treasured 

hoard, 
As ban-dog keeps his master's 

roof, 480 

Bidding the plunderer stand aloof, 
This doubt remains — thy goblin 

gaunt 
Hath chosen ill his ghostly 

haunt ; 
For why his guard on Mortham 

hold, 
When Rokeby castle hath the 

gold 
Thy patron won on Indian soil 
By stealth, by piracy, and 

spoil? ' — 

xx 

At this he paused — for angry 
shame 

Lowered on the brow of Rising- 
ham. 

He blushed to think, that he 
should seem 490 

Assertor of an airy dream, 

And gave his wrath another 
theme. 



CANTO THIRD 



335 



' Denzil,' he says, { though lowly 

laid, 
Wrong not the memory of the 

dead; 
For while he lived at Mortham's 

look 
Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! 
And when he taxed thy breach of 

word 
To yon fair rose of Allenford, 
I saw thee crouch like chastened 

hound 
Whose hack the huntsman's lash 

hath found. 500 

Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 
The spoil of piracy or stealth ; 
He won it bravely with his brand 
When Spain waged warfare with 

our land. 
Mark, too — I brook no idle jeer, 
Nor couple Bertram's name with 

fear; 
Mine is but half the demon's lot, 
For I believe, but tremble not. 
Enough of this. Say, why this 

hoard 
Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle 

stored; 510 

Or think'st that Mortham would 

bestow 
His treasure with his faction's 

foe?' 

XXI 

Soon quenched was Denzil's ill- 
timed mirth ; 

Rather he would have seen the 
earth 

Give to ten thousand spectres 
birth 

Than venture to awake to flame 

The deadly wrath of Risingham. 

Submisshe answered, ' Mortham's 
mind, 

Thou know'st, to joy was ill in- 
clined, 519 

In youth, >t is said, a gallant free, 

A lusty reveller was he ; 

But since returned from over 
sea, 

A sullen and a silent mood 



Hath numbed the current of his 

blood. 
Hence he refused each kindly call 
j To Rokeby's hospitable hall, 
; And our stout knight, at dawn or 

morn 
j Who loved to hear the bugle-horn, 
; Nor less, when eve his oaks em. 

browned, 
j To see the ruddy cup go round, 530 
Took umbrage that a friend so 

near 
Refused to share his chase and 

cheer ; 
Thus did the kindred barons jar 
Ere they divided in the war. 
Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair 
Of Mortham's wealth is destined 
heir.' 

XXII 

1 Destined to her ! to yon slight 

maid! 
The prize my life had wellnigh 

paid 
When 'gainst Laroche by Cayo's 

wave 
I fought my patron's wealth to 

save ! — 540 

Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er 
Knew him that joyous cavalier 
Whom youthful friends and early 

fame 
Called soul of gallantry and game. 
A moody man he sought our crew, 
Desperate and dark, whom no one 

knew, 
And rose, as men with us must 

rise, 
By scorning life and all its ties. 
On each adventure rash he roved, 
As danger for itself he loved ; 550 
On his sad brow nor mirth nor 

wine 
j Could e'er one wrinkled knot un- 
twine ; 
111 was the omen if he smiled, 
I For 't was in peril stern and wild ; 
But when he laughed each luck- 

less mate 
' Might hold our fortune desperate. 



336 



ROKEBY 



Foremost he fought in every broil, 
Then scornful turned him from 

the spoil, 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their 

prey ; 560 

Preaching even then to such as 

we, 
Hot with our dear-bought victory, 
Of mercy and humanity. 

XXIII 

4 1 loved him well — his fearless 

part, 
His gallant leading, won my heart. 
And after each victorious fight, 
'Twas I that wrangled for his 

right, 
Redeemed his portion of the prey 
That greedier mates had torn 

away, 
In field and storm thrice saved his 

life, 570 

And once amid our comrades' 

strife. — 
Yes, I have loved thee ! Well hath 

proved 
My toil, my danger, how I loved! 
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
Ingrate in life,, in death ingrate. 
Rise if thou canst ! ' he looked 

around 
And sternly stamped upon the 

ground — 
' Rise, with thy bearing proud and 

high, 
Even as this morn it met mine 

eye, 
And give me, if thou darest, the 

lie ! ' 580 

He paused — then, calm and pas- 

sion-freed, 
Bade Denzil with his tale pro- 

ceed. 

XXIV 

1 Bertram, to thee I need not tell, 
What thou hast cause to wot so 

well, 
How superstition's nets were 

twined 



Around the Lord of Mortham's 

mind; 
But since he drove thee from his 

tower, 
A maid he found in Greta's bower 
Whose speech, like David's harp, 

had sway 
To charm his evil fiend away. 590 
I know not if her features moved 
Remembrance of the wife he loved, 
But he would gaze upon her eye, 
Till his mood softened to a sigh. 
He, whom no living mortal sought 
To question of his secret thought, 
Now every thought and care con- 
fessed 
To his fair niece's faithful breast ; 
Nor was there aught of rich and 

rare, 
In earth, in ocean, or in air, 600 
But it must deck Matilda's hair. 
Her love still bound him unto 

life; 
But then awoke the civil strife, 
And menials bore by his com- 
mands 
Three coffers with their iron 

bands 
From Mortham's vault at midnight 

deep 
To her lone bower in Rokeby- 

Keep, 
Ponderous with gold and plate of 

pride, 
His gift, if he in battle died.' 

XXV 

' Then Denzil, as I guess, lays 
train 610 

These iron-banded chests to gain, 

Else wherefore should he hover 
here 

Where many a peril waits him 
near 

For all his feats of war and peace, 

For plundered boors, and harts of 
greese ? 

Since through the hamlets as he 
fared 

What hearth has Guy's maraud- 
ing spared, 



CANTO THIRD 



337 



Or where the chase that hath not 

rung 
With Denzil's bow at midnight 

strung ? ' 
* I hold my wont — my rangers go, 
Even now to track a milk-white 

doe. 621 

By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, 
In Greta wood she harbors fair, 
And when my huntsman marks 

her way, 
What think'st thou, Bertram, of 

the prey ? 
Were Rokeby's daughter in our 

power, 
We rate her ransom at her dower.' 

XXVI 

"T is well! — there >s vengeance 

in the thought, 
Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; 
And hot-brained Redmond too, 't is 

said, 630 

Pays lover's homage to the maid. 
Bertram she scorned — if met by 

chance 
She turned from me her shudder- 
ing glance, 
Like a nice dame that will not 

brook 
On what she hates and loathes to 

look ; 
She told to Mortham she could 

ne'er 
Behold me without secret fear, 
Foreboding evil : — she may rue 
To find her prophecy fall true ! — 
The war has weeded Rokeby's 

train, 640 

Few followers in his halls remain ; 
If thy scheme miss, then, brief and 

bold, 
We are enow to storm the hold, 
Bear off the plunder and the dame, 
And leave the castle all in flame.' 

XXVII 

1 Still art thou Valor's venturous 

son! 
Yet ponder first the risk to run : 
The menials of the castle, true 



And stubborn to their charge, 
though few — 

The wall to scale — the moat to 
cross — 650 

The wicket - grate — the inner 
fosse ' — 

'Fool! if we blench for toys like 
these, 

On what fair guerdon can we 
seize ? 

Our hardiest venture, to explore 

Some wretched peasant's fence- 
less door, 

And the best prize we bear away, 

The earnings of his sordid day.' 

k A while thy hasty taunt for- 
bear: 

In sight of road more sure and 
fair 

Thou wouldst not choose, in blind- 
fold wrath 660 

Or wantonness a desperate path ? 

List, then; — for vantage or as- 
sault, 

From gilded vane to dungeon 
vault, 

Each pass of Hoke by -house I 
know : 

There is one postern dark and 
low 

That issues at a secret spot, 

By most neglected or forgot. 

Now, could a spial of our train 

On fair pretext admittance gain, 

That sally-port might be unbarred ; 

Then, vain were battlement and 
ward ! ' 67 1 

XXVIII 

4 Now speak'st thou well : to me 

the same 
If force or art shall urge the 

game; 
Indifferent if like fox I wind, 
Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 
But, hark ! our merry men so gay 
Troll forth another roundelay.' 

SONG 

1 A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 
A weary lot is thine l 



338 



ROKEBY 



To pull the thorn thy brow to 
braid, 680 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 
No more of me you knew, 

My love ! 
No more of me you knew. 

1 This morn is merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter 
snow 690 

Ere we two meet again.' 
He turned his charger as he spake 

Upon the river shore, 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake, 

Said, ' Adieu for evermore, 

My love ! 
And adieu for evermore.' 

XXIX 

1 What youth is this your band 

among 698 

The best for minstrelsy and song? 
In his wild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasure and regret.' — 
* Edmund of Winston is his name ; 
The hamlet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes his childhood 

gave, — 
Now centred all in Brignall cave ! 
I watch him well — his wayward 

course 
Shows oft a tincture of remorse. 
Some early love-shaft grazed his 

heart, 
And oft the scar will ache and 

smart. 
Yet is he useful ; — of the rest 710 
By fits the darling and the jest, 
His harp, his story, and his lay, 
Oft aid the idle hours away : 
When unemployed, each fiery mate 
Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
He tuned his strings e'en now — 

again 
He wakes them with a blither 

strain.' 



XXX 

SONG 
ALLEN-A-DALE 

Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burn- 
ing, 

Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for 
turning, 

Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the 
spinning, 720 

Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for 
the winning. 

Come, read me my riddle! come, 
hearken my tale ! 

And tell me the craft of bold Allen- 
a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravens worth prances 

in pride, 
And he views his domains upon 

Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net and the land 

for his game, 
The chase for the wild and the 

park for the tame ; 
Yet the fish of the lake and the 

deer of the vale 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than 

Allen-a-Dale I 

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a 
knight, 730 

Though his spur be as sharp and 
his blade be as bright; 

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord, 

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw 
at his word ; 

And the best of our nobles his bon- 
net will vail, 

Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore 
meets Allen-a-Dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 
The mother, she asked of his 

household and home : 
' Though the castle of Richmond 

stand fair on the hill, 
My hall,' quoth bold Allen, * shows 

gallanter still ; 



CANTO FOURTH 



339 



'T is the blue vault of heaven, 
with its crescent so pale 740 

And with all its bright spangles ! ' 
said Allen-a-Dale. 

The father was steel and the mo- 
ther was stone ; 

They lifted the latch and they 
bade him be gone : 

But loud on the morrow their wail 
and their cry : 

He had laughed on the lass with 
his bonny black eye, 

And she fled to the forest to hear 
a love-tale, 

And the youth it was told by was 
Allen-a-Dale ! 

XXXI 

'Thou see'st that, whether sad or 

gay, 
Love mingles ever in his lay. 749 
But when his boyish wayward fit 
Is o'er, he hath address and wit ; 
O, t is a brain of fire, can ape 
Each dialect, each various 

shape ! ' — 
' Nay, then, to aid thy project, 

Guy- 
Soft ! who comes here ? '— ' My 

trusty spy. 
Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged 

our deer?'— 
4 1 have — but two fair stags are 

near. 
I watched her as she slowly 

strayed 
From Egliston up Thorsgill glade, 
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her 

side, 760 

And then young Redmond in his 

pride 
Shot down to meet them on their 

way; 
Much, as it seemed, was theirs to 

say: 
There 's time to pitch both toil 

and net 
Before their path be homeward 

set.' 
A hurried and a whispered speech 



Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach, 
Who, turning to the robber band, 
Bade four, the bravest, take the 
brand. 

CANTO FOURTH 



Whex Denmark's raven soared 
on high, 

Triumphant through Northum- 
brian sky, 

Till hovering near her fatal croak 

Bade Reged's Britons dread the 
yoke, 

And the broad shadow of her wing 

Blackened each cataract and 
spring 

Where Tees in tumult leaves his 
source, 

Thundering o'er Caldron and High- 
Force ; 

Beneath the shade the Northmen 
came, q 

Fixed on each vale a Runic name, 

Reared high their altar's rugged 
stone, 

And gave their gods the land they 
won. 

Then, Balder, one bleak garth was 
thine 

And one sweet brooklet's silver 
line, 

And Woden's Croft did title gain 

From the stern Father of the 
Slain ; 

But to the Monarch of the Mace, 

That held in fight the foremost 
place. 

To Odin's son and Sifia's spouse, 

Near Stratforth high they paid 
their vows, 20 

Remembered Thor's victorious 
fame, 

And gave the dell the Thunder- 
er's name. 

11 

Yet Scald or Kemper erred, I ween 
Who gave that soft and quiet 
scene, 



340 



ROKEBY 



With all its varied light and shade, 
And every little sunny glade, 
And the blithe brook that strolls 

along 
Its pebbled bed with summer song, 
To the grim God of blood and 

scar, 
The grisly King of Northern 

War. 30 

O, better were its banks assigned 
To spirits of a gentler kind ! 
For where the thicket-groups re- 
cede 
And the rathe primrose decks the 

mead, 
The velvet grass seems carpet 

meet 
For the light fairies' lively feet. 
Yon tufted knoll with daisies 

strown 
Might make proud Oberon a 

throne, 
While, hidden in the thicket nigh, 
Puck should brood o'er his frolic 

sly ; 40 

And where profuse the wood-vetch 

clings 
Round ash and elm in verdant 

rings, 
Its pale and azure-pencilled flower 
Should canopy Titania's bower. 

in 

Here rise no cliffs the yale to 
shade ; 

But, skirting every sunny glade, 

In fair variety of green 

The woodland lends its sylvan 
screen. 

Hoary yet haughty, frowns the 
oak, 

Its boughs by weight of ages 
broke ; 50 

And towers erect in sable spire 

The pine-tree scathed by lightning- 
fire; 

The drooping ash and birch be- 
tween 

Hang their fair tresses o'er the 
green, 

And all beneath at random grow 



Each coppice dwarf of varied 
show, 

Or, round the stems profusely 
twined, 

Fling summer odors on the wind. 

Such varied group TJrbino's hand 

Round Him of Tarsus nobly 
planned, 60 

What time he bade proud Athens 
own 

On Mars's Mount the God Un- 
known ! 

Then gray Philosophy stood nigh, 

Though bent by age, in spirit high : 

There rose the scar-seamed veter- 
an's spear, 

There Grecian Beauty bent to hear, 

While Childhood at her foot was 
placed, 

Or clung delighted to her waist. 

IV 

1 And rest we here,' Matilda said, 
And sat her in the varying 

shade. 70 

' Chance-met, we well may steal an 

hour, 
To friendship due from fortune's 

power. 
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend 
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 
And, Redmond, thou, at my be- 
hest, 
No farther urge thy desperate 

quest. 
For to my care a charge is left, 
Dangerous to one of aid bereft, 
Wellnigh an orphan and alone, 
Captive her sire, her house o'er- 

thrown.' 80 

Wilfrid, with wonted kindness 

graced, 
Beside her on the turf she placed; 
Then paused with downcast look 

and eye, 
Nor bade young Redmond seat 

him nigh. 
Her conscious diffidence he saw, 
Drew backward as in modest awe, 
And sat a little space removed, 
Unmarked to gaze on her he loved. 



CANTO FOURTH 



341 



Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, 

her hair 89 

Half hid Matilda's forehead fair, 
Half hid and half revealed to view 
Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 
The rose with faint and feeble 

streak 
So slightly tinged the maiden's 

cheek 
That you had said her hue was 

pale; 
But if she faced the summer gale, 
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker 

moved, 
Or heard the praise of those she 

loved, 
Or when of interest was expressed 
Aught that waked feeling in her 

breast, 100 

The mantling blood in ready play 
Rivalled the blush of rising day. 
There was a soft and pensive 

grace, 
A cast of thought upon her face, 
That suited well the forehead high, 
The eyelash dark and downcast 

eye; 
The mild expression spoke a mind 
In duty firm, composed, re- 
signed ; — 
'Tis that which Roman art has 

given, 
To mark their maiden Queen of 

Heaven. no 

In hours of sport that mood gave 

way 
To Fancy's light and frolic play ; 
And when the dance, or tale, or 

song 
In harmless mirth sped time along, 
Full oft her doting sire would call 
His Maud the merriest of them all. 
But days of war and civil crime 
Allowed but ill such festal time, 
And her soft pensiveness of brow 
Had deepened into sadness now. 
In Marston field her father ta'en, 
Her friends dispersed, brave Mor- 

tham slain, 122 

While every ill her soul foretold 



From Oswald's thirst of power 

and gold, 
And boding thoughts that she 

must part 
With a soft vision of her heart,— 
All lowered around the lovely 

maid, 
To darken her dejection's shade. 

VI 

Who has not heard — while Erin 

yet 
Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron 

bit — 13° 

Who has not heard how brave 

O'Neale 
In English blood imbrued his steel, 
Against Saint George's cross » 

blazed high 
The banners of his Tanistry, 
To fiery Essex gave the foil, 
And reigned a prince on Ulster's 

soil? 
But chief arose his victor pride 
When that brave Marshal fought 

and died, 
And Avon-Duff to ocean bore 139 
His billows red with Saxon gore. 
'T was first in that disastrous 

fight 
Rokeby and Mortham proved their 

might. 
There had they fallen amongst the 

rest, 
But pity touched a chieftain's 

breast ; 
The Tanist he to great O'Xeale, 
He checked his followers' bloody 

zeal, 
To quarter took the kinsmen bold, 
And bore them to his mountain- 
hold, 
Gave them each sylvan joy to 

know 
Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods 

could show, 150 

Shared with them Erin's festal 

cheer, 
Showed them the chase of wolf 

and deer, 
And, when a fitting time was come 



342 



ROKEBY 



Safe and unransomed sent them 

home, 
Loaded with many a gift to prove 
A generous foe's respect and love. 

VII 

Years speed away. On Kokeby's 

head 
Some touch of early snow was 

shed; 
Calm he enjoyed by Greta's wave 
The peace which James the Peace- 
ful gave, 1 60 
While Mortham far beyond the 

main 
Waged his fierce wars on Indian 

Spain. — 
It chanced upon a wintry night 
That whitened Stanmore's stormy 

height, 
The chase was o'er, the stag was 

killed, 
In Eokeby hall the cups were filled, 
And by the huge stone chimney 

sate 
The knight in hospitable state. 
Moonless the sky, the hour was 

late, 
When a loud summons shook the 

gate, 170 

And sore for entrance and for aid 
A voice of foreign accent prayed. 
The porter answered to the call, 
And instant rushed into the hall 
A man whose aspect and attire 
Startled the circle by the fire. 

VIII 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread 
Around his bare and matted head ; 
On leg and thigh, close stretched 

and trim, 
His vesture showed the sinewy 

limb ; 180 

In saffron dyed, a linen vest 
Was frequent folded round his 

breast ; 
A mantle long and loose he wore, 
Shaggy with ice and stained with 

gore. 
He clasped a burden to his heart, 



And, resting on a knotted dart, 
The snow from hair and beard he 

shook, 
And round him gazed with wil- 

dered look. 
Then up the hall with staggering 

pace 189 

He hastened by the blaze to place, 
Half lifeless from the bitter air, 
His load, a boy of beauty rare. 
To Eokeby next he louted low, 
Then stood erect his tale to show 
With wild majestic port and tone, 
Like envoy of some barbarous 

throne. 
'Sir Richard, Lord of Eokeby, 

hear! 
Tur lough O'Neale salutes thee 

dear; 
He graces thee, and to thy care 
Young Eedmond gives, his grand- 
son fair. 200 
He bids thee breed him as thy son, 
For Turlough's days of joy are 

done, 
And other lords have seized his 

land, 
And faint and feeble is his hand, 
And all the glory of Tyrone 
Is like a morning vapor flown. 
To bind the duty on thy soul, 
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl ! 
If any w r rong the young O'Neale, 
He bids thee think of Erin's steel. 
To Mortham first this charge w r as 

due, 2 1 1 

But in his absence honors you. — 
Now is my master's message by, 
And Ferraught will contented die.' 

IX 

His look grew fixed, his cheek 

grew pale, 
He sunk when he had told his tale ; 
For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 
A mortal wound was in his side. 
Vain was all aid — in terror wild 
And sorrow screamed the orphan 

child. 220 

Poor Ferraught raised his wistful 

eyes, 



CANTO FOURTH 



343 



And faintly strove to soothe his 

cries; 
All reckless of his dying pain, 
He blest and blest him o'er again, 
And kissed the little hands out- 
spread, 
And kissed and crossed the infant 

head, 
And in his native tongue and 

phrase 
Prayed to each saint to watch his 

days; 
Then all his strength together 

drew 
The charge to Rokeby to renew. 
When half was faltered from his 

breast, 231 

And half by dying signs expressed, 
■ Bless thee, O'Xeale ! ' he faintly 

said, 
And thus the faithful spirit fled. 



'T was long ere soothing might 

prevail 
Upon the child to end the tale : 
And then he said that from his 

home 
His grandsire had been forced to 

roam, 
Which had not been if Redmond's 

hand 
Had but had strength to draw the 

brand, 240 

The brand of Lenaugh More the 

Red, 
That hung beside the gray wolf's 

head. — 
'T was from his broken phrase de- 
scried, 
His foster father was his guide, 
Who in his charge from Ulster 

bore 
Letters and gifts a goodly store ; 
But ruffians met them in the 

wood, 
Ferraught in battle boldly stood, 
Till wounded and o'erpowered at 

length, 
And stripped of all, his failing 

strength 250 



Just bore him here — and then the 

child 
Renewed again his moaning wild. 

XI 

The tear down childhood's cheek 

that flows 
Is like the dewdrop on the rose ; 
When next the summer breeze 

comes by 
And waves the bush, the flower is 

dry. 
Won by their care, the orphan 

child 
Soon on his new protector smiled, 
With dimpled cheek and eye so 

fair, 
Through his thick curls of flaxen 

hair, 260 

But blithest laughed that cheek 

and eye, 
When Rokeby's little maid was 

nigh ; 
'T was his with elder brother's 

pride 
Matilda's tottering steps to guide ; 
His native lays in Irish tongue 
To soothe her infant ear he sung, 
And primrose twined with daisy 

faii- 
To form a chaplet for her hair. 
By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's 

strand, 
The children still were hand in 

hand, 270 

And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 
The early knot so kindly tied. 

XII 

But summer months bring wilding 

shoot 
From bud to bloom, from bloom 

to fruit ; 
And years draw on our human 

span 
From child to boy, from boy to 

man; 
And soon in Rokeby's woods is 

seen 
A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
He loves to wake the felon boar 



344 



ROKEBY 



In his dark haunt on Greta's 

shore, 280 

And loves against the deer so dun 
To draw the shaft, or lift the gun : 
Yet more he loves in autumn prime 
The hazel's spreading boughs to 

climb, 
And down its clustered store to 

hail 
Where young Matilda holds her 

veil. 
And she whose veil receives the 

shower 
Is altered too and knows her 

power, 
Assumes a monitress's pride 
Her Redmond's dangerous sports 

to chide, 296 

Yet listens still to hear him tell 
How the grim wild-boar fought 

and fell, 
How at his fall the bugle rung, 
Till rock and greenwood answer 

flung; 
Then blesses her that man can find 
A pastime of such savage kind 1 

XIII 

But Redmond knew to weave his 

tale 
So well with praise of wood and 

dale, 
And knew so well each point to 

trace 299 

Gives living interest to the chase, 
And knew so well o'er all to throw 
His spirit's wild romantic glow, 
That, while she blamed and while 

she feared, 
She loved each venturous tale she 

heard. 
Oft, too, when drifted snow and 

rain 
To bower and hall their steps re- 
strain, 
Together they explored the page 
Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; 
Oft, placed the evening fire beside, 
The minstrel art alternate tried, 
While gladsome harp and lively 

lay 311 



Bade winter-night flit fast away : 

Thus, from their childhood blend- 
ing still 

Their sport, their study, and their 
skill, 

An union of the soul they prove, 

But must not think that it was 
love. 

But though they dared not, envious 
Fame 

Soon dared to give that union 
name ; 

And when so often side by side 

From year to year the pair she 
eyed, 320 

She sometimes blamed the good 
old knight 

As dull of ear and dim of sight, 

Sometimes his purpose would de- 
clare 

That young O'Neale should wed 
his heir. 

XIV 

The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 
And bandage from the lovers' 

eyes; 
'T was plain that Oswald for his 

son 
Had Rokeby's favor wellnigh won. 
Now must they meet with change 

of cheer, 
With mutual looks of shame and 

fear; 330 

Now must Matilda stray apart 
To school her disobedient heart, 
And Redmond now alone must rue 
The love he never can subdue. 
But factions rose, and Rokeby 

sware 
No rebel's son should wed his 

heir; 
And Redmond, nurtured while a 

child 
In many a bard's traditions wild, 
Now sought the lonely wood or 

stream, 
To cherish there a happier 

dream 340 

Of maiden won by sword or lance, 
As in the regions of romance ; 



CANTO FOURTH 



345 



And count the heroes of his line, 
Great Nial of the Pledges Nine, 
Shane-Dymas wild, and Geraldine, 
And Connan-inore, who vowed his 

race 
Forever to the fight and chase, 
And cursed him of his lineage born 
Should sheathe the sword to reap 

the corn, 
Or leave the mountain and the 

wold 350 

To shroud himself in castled hold. 
From such examples hope he 

drew, 
And brightened as the trumpet 

blew. 

xv 

If brides were won by heart and 

blade, 
Redmond had both his cause to aid, 
And all beside of nurture rare 
That might beseem a baron's heir. 
Turlough O'Neale in Erin's strife 
On Rokeby's Lord bestowed his 

life, 
And well did Rokeby's generous 

knight 360 

Young Redmond for the deed re- 

quite. 
Nor was his liberal care and cost 
Upon the gallant stripling lost : 
Seek the North Riding broad and 

wide, 
Like Redmond none could steed 

bestride ; 
From Tynemouth search to Cum- 
berland, 
Like Redmond none could wield a 

brand ; 
And then, of humor kind and free, 
And bearing him to each degree 
With frank and fearless courtesy, 
There never youth was formed to 

steal 371 

Upon the heart like brave O'Neale. 

xvi 

Sir Richard loved him as his son ; 
And when the days of peace were 
done, 



And to the gales of war he gave 

The banner of his sires to wave, 

Redmond, distinguished by his 
care, 

He chose that honored flag to 
bear, 

And named his page, the next de- 
gree 

In that old time to chivalry. 380 

In five pitched fields he well main- 
tained 

The honored place his worth ob- 
tained, 

And high was Redmond's youth- 
ful name 

Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 

Had fortune smiled on Marston 
fight, 

The eve had seen him dubbed a 
knight ; 

Twice mid the battle's doubtful 
strife 

Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the 
life, 

But when he saw him prisoner 
made, 

He kissed and then resigned his 
blade, 390 

And yielded him an easy prey 

To those who led the knight away, 

Resolved Matilda's sire should 
prove 

In prison, as in fight, his love. 

XVII 

When lovers meet in adverse hour, 
'T is like a sun-glimpse through a 

shower, 
A watery ray an instant seen 
The darkly closing clouds between. 
As Redmond on the turf reclined, 
The past and present filled his 

mind : 400 

' It was not thus,' Affeetion said, 
1 1 dreamed of my return, dear 

maid ! 
Not thus when from thy trembling 

hand 
I took the banner and the brand, 
When round me, as the bugles 

blew, 



346 



ROKEBY 



Their blades three hundred war- 

riors drew, 
And, while the standard I un- 
rolled, 
Clashed their bright arms, with 

clamor bold. 
Where is that banner now ? — its 

pride 
Lies whelmed in Ouse's sullen 

tide! 4 to 

Where now these warriors? — in 

their gore 
They cumber Marston's dismal 

moor! 
And what avails a useless brand, 
Held by a captive's shackled hand, 
That only would his life retain 
To aid thy sire to bear his chain ! ' 
Thus Redmond to himself apart, 
Nor lighter was his rival's heart : 
For Wilfrid, while his generous 

soul 
Disdained to profit by control, 420 
By many a sign could mark too 

plain, 
Save with such aid, his hopes were 

vain. 
But now Matilda's accents stole 
On the dark visions of their soul, 
And bade their mournful musing 

fly, 

Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 

XVIII 

' I need not to my friends recall, 
How Mortham shunned my father' s 

hall, 
A man of silence*and of woe, 
Yet ever anxious to bestow 430 
On my poor self whate'er could 

prove 
A kinsman's confidence and love. 
My feeble aid could sometimes 

chase 
The clouds of sorrow for a space ; 
But oftener, fixed beyond my 

power, 
I marked his deep despondence 

lower. 
One dismal cause, by all un- 

guessed, 



His fearful confidence confessed ; 
And twice it was my hap to see 
Examples of that agony 440 

Which for a season can o'erstrain 
And wreck the structure of the 

brain. 
He had the awful power to know 
The approaching mental over- 
throw, 
And while his mind had courage 

yet 
To struggle with the dreadful fit, 
The victim writhed against its 

throes, 
Like wretch beneath a murderer's 

blows. 
This malady, I well could mark, 
Sprung from some direful cause 
and dark, 450 

But still he kept its source con- 
cealed, 
Till arming for the civil field ; 
Then in my charge he bade me 

hold 
A treasure huge of gems and gold, 
With this disjointed dismal scroll 
That tells the secret of his soul 
In such wild words as oft betray 
A mind by anguish forced astray.' 

XIX 

MORTHAM' S HISTORY 

* Matilda! thou hast seen me 

start, 
As if a dagger thrilled my heart, 
When it has happed some casual 

phrase 461 

Waked memory of my former days. 
Believe that few can backward 

cast 
Their thought with pleasure on the 

past; 
But I! — my youth was rash and 

vain, 
And blood and rage my manhood 

stain, 
And my gray hairs must now de- 
scend 
To my cold grave without a 

friend ! 



CANTO FOURTH 



347 



Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown 

Thy kinsman when his guilt is 
known. 470 

And must I lift the bloody veil 

That hides my dark and fatal tale ? 

I must — I will — Pale phantom, 
cease ! 

Leave me one little hour in peace ! 

Thus haunted, think'st thou I have 
skill 

Thine own commission to fulfil? 

Or, while thou point'st with ges- 
ture fierce 

Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody 
hearse, 

How can I paint thee as thou 
wert, 

So fair in face, so warm in heart ! — 

xx 

'Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda, 
thou 481 

Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 
But hers was like the sunny glow, 
That laughs on earth and all be- 
low! 
We wedded secret — there was 

need — 
Differing in country and in creed ; 
And when to Mortham's tower she 

came, 
We mentioned not her race and 

name, 
Until thy sire, who fought afar, 
Should turn him home from foreign 
war 490 

On whose kind influence we relied 
To soothe her father's ire and 

pride. 
Few months we lived retired, un- 
known 
To all but one dear friend alone, 
One darling friend — I spare his 

shame, 
T will not write the villain's name ! 
My trespasses I might forget, 
And sue in vengeance for the debt 
Due by a brother worm to me, 
Ungrateful to God's clemency, 500 
That spared me penitential time, 
Nor cut me off amid my crime. — 



XXI 

4 A kindly smile to all she lent, 
But on her husband's friend 't was 

bent 
So kind that from its harmless glee 
The wretch misconstrued villany. 
Repulsed in his presumptuous 

love, 
A vengeful snare the traitor wove. 
Alone we sat — the flask had 

flowed, 
My blood with heat unwonted 

glowed, 510 

When through the alleyed walk 

we spied 
With hurried step my Edith glide, 
Cowering beneath the verdant 

screen, 
As one unwilling to be seen. 
Words cannot paint the fiendish 

smile 
That curled the traitor's cheek the 

while ! 
Fiercely I questioned of the cause ; 
He made a cold and artful pause, 
Then prayed it might not chafe 

my mood — 
" There was a gallant in the 

wood!" 520 

We had been shooting at the 

deer; 
My cross - bow — evil chance ! — 

was near : 
That ready weapon of my wrath 
I caught and, hasting up the path, 
In the yew grove my wife I found ; 
A stranger's arms her neck had 

bound ! 
I marked his heart — the bow I 

drew — 
I loosed the shaft — 't was more 

than true ! 
I found my Edith's dying charms 
Locked in her murdered brother's 

arms ! 530 

He came in secret to inquire 
Her state and reconcile her sire. 

xxn 
'All fled my rage — the villain 
first 



348 



ROKEBY 



Whose craft my jealousy had 

nursed ; 
He sought in far and foreign clime 
To 'scape the vengeance of his 

crime. 
The manner of the slaughter done 
Was known to few, my guilt to 

none ; 
Some tale my faithful steward 

framed — 
I know not what — of shaft mis- 
aimed ; 540 
And even from those the act who 

knew 
He hid the hand from which it 

flew. 
Untouched by human laws I stood, 
But God had heard the cry of 

blood ! 
There is a blank upon my mind, 
A fearful vision ill-defined 
Of raving till my flesh was torn, 
Of dungeon - bolts and fetters 

worn — 
And when I waked to woe more 

mild 
And questioned of my infant 

child— 550 

Have I not written that she 

bare 
A boy, like summer morning 

fair?— 
With looks confused my menials 

tell 
That armed men in Mortham 

dell 
Beset the nurse's evening way, 
And bore her with her charge 

away. 
My faithless friend, and none but 

he, 
Could profit by this villany ; 
Him then I sought with purpose 

dread 
Of treble vengeance on his head ! 
He 'scaped me-— but my bosom's 

wound 561 

Some faint relief from wandering 

found, 
And over distant land and sea 
I bore my load of misery. 



XXIII 

1 'T was then that fate my foot. 

steps led 
Among a daring crew and dread, 
With whom full oft my hated life 
I ventured in such desperate strife 
That even my fierce associates 

saw 
My frantic deeds with doubt and 

awe. 570 

Much then I learned and much 

can show 
Of human guilt and human woe, 
Yet ne'er have in my wanderings 

known 
A wretch whose sorrows matched 

my own ! — 
It chanced that after battle fray 
Upon the bloody field we lay ; 
The yellow moon her lustre shed 
Upon the wounded and the dead, 
While, sense in toil and wassail 

drowned, 
My ruffian comrades slept around, 
There came a voice — its silver 

tone 581 

Was soft, Matilda, as thine own — 
"Ah, wretch!" it said, "what 

mak'st thou here, 
While unavenged my bloody bier, 
While unprotected lives mine heir 
Without a father's name and 

care?" 

XXIV 

' I heard — obeyed — and home- 
ward drew ; 
The fiercest of our desperate crew 
I brought, at time of need to aid 
My purposed vengeance long de- 
layed. 590 
But humble be my thanks to Hea- 
ven 
That better hopes and thoughts 

has given, 
And by our Lord's dear prayer has 

taught 
Mercy by mercy must be bought ! — 
Let me in misery rejoice — 
I 've seen his face — T 've heard 
his voice — 



CANTO FOURTH 



349 



I claimed of him my only child — 
As he disowned the theft, he 

smiled ! 
That very calm and callous look, 
That fiendish sneer his visage 

took, 600 

As when he said, in scornful 

mood, 
" There is a gallant in the 

wood ! " — 
I did not slay him as he stood — 
All praise be to my Maker given ! 
Long sufferance is one path to 

heaven.' 

XXV 

Thus far the woful tale was heard 
When something in the thicket 

stirred. 
Up Redmond sprung; the villain 

Guy — 
For he it was that lurked so nigh — 
Drew back — he durst not cross 

his steel 610 

A moment's space with brave 

O'Neale 
For all the treasured gold that 

rests 
In Mortham's iron-banded chests. 
Redmond resumed his seat; — he 

said 
Some roe was rustling in the 

shade. 
Bertram laughed grimly when he 

saw 
His timorous comrade backward 

draw ; 
1 A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near! 619 
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer. 
Give me thy carabine — I '11 show 
An art that thou wilt gladly know, 
How thou mayst safely quell a 

foe.' 

XXVI 

On hands and knees fierce Ber- 
tram drew 

The spreading birch and hazels 
through, 

Till he had Redmond full in view; 



The gun he levelled — Mark like 

this 
Was Bertram never known to 

miss, 
When fair opposed to aim there 

sate 
An object of his mortal hate. 630 
That day young Redmond's death 

had seen, 
But twice Matilda came between 
The carabine and Redmond's 

breast 
Just ere the spring his finger 

pressed. 
A deadly oath the ruffian swore, 
But yet his fell design forbore : 
' It ne'er,' he muttered, ' shall be 

said 
That thus I scathed thee, haughty 

maid ! ' 
Then moved to seek more open 

aim, 
When to his side Guy Denzil 

came : 640 

1 Bertram, forbear ! — we are un- 
done 
Forever, if thou fire the gun. 
By all the fiends, an armed force 
Descends the dell of foot and 

horse ! 
We perish if they hear a shot — 
Madman ! we have a safer plot — 
Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear 

thee back ! 
Behold, down yonder hollow track 
The warlike leader of the band 
Comes with his broadsword in his 

hand.' 650 

Bertram looked up; he saw, he 

knew 
That DenziPs fears had counselled 

true, 
Then cursed his fortune and with- 
drew, 
Threaded the woodlands unde- 

scried, 
And gained the cave on Greta 

side. 

XXVII 

They whom dark Bertram in his 
wrath 



350 



ROKEBY 



Doomed to captivity or death, 
Their thoughts to one sad subject 

lent, 
Saw not nor heard the ambush- 

ment. 
Heedless and unconcerned they 

sate 660 

While on the very verge of fate, 
Heedless and unconcerned re- 
mained 
When Heaven the murderer's arm 

restrained ; 
As ships drift darkling down the 

tide, 
Nor see the shelves o'er which 

they glide. 
Uninterrupted thus they heard 
What Mortham's closing tale de- 
clared. 
He spoke of wealth as of a 

load 
By fortune on a wretch bestowed, 
In bitter mockery of hate, 670 
His cureless woes to aggravate ; 
But yet he prayed Matilda's 

care 
Might save that treasure for his 

heir — 
His Edith's son — for still he 

raved 
As confident his life was saved ; 
In frequent vision, he averred, 
He saw his face, his voice he 

heard, 
Then argued calm-— had murder 

been, 
The blood, the corpses, had been 

seen ; 679 

Some had pretended, too, to mark 
On Windermere a stranger bark, 
Whose crew, with jealous care yet 

mild, 
Guarded a female and a child. 
While these faint proofs he told 

and pressed, 
Hope seemed to kindle in his 

breast ; 
Though inconsistent, vague, and 

vain, 
It warped his judgment and his 

brain. 



XXVIII 

These solemn words his story 

close : — 
'Heaven witness for me that I 

chose 
My part in this sad civil fight 690 
Moved by no cause but England's 

right. 
My country's groans have bid me 

draw 
My sword for gospel and for 

law ; — 
These righted, I fling arms aside 
And seek my son through Europe 

wide. 
My wealth, on which a kinsman 

nigh 
Already casts a grasping eye, 
With thee may unsuspected lie. 
When of my death Matilda hears, 
Let her retain her trust three 

years ; 700 

If none from me the treasure 

claim, 
Perished is Mortham's race and 

name. 
Then let it leave her generous 

hand, 
And flow in bounty o'er the land, 
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot, 
Eebuild the peasant's ruined cot ; 
So spoils, acquired by fight afar, 
Shall mitigate domestic war.' 

XXIX 

The generous youths, who well 
had known 

Of Mortham's mind the powerful 
tone, 710 

To that high mind by sorrow 
swerved 

Gave sympathy his woes de- 
served : 

But Wilfrid chief, who saw re- 
vealed 

Why Mortham wished his life con. 
cealed, 

In secret, doubtless, to pursue 

The schemes his wildered fancy 
drew. 

Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell 



CANTO FOURTH 



3Si 



That she would share her father's 

cell, 
His partner of captivity, 
Where'er his prison-house should 

be ; 720 

Yet grieved to think that Rokebv- 

hall, 
Dismantled and forsook by all, 
Open to rapine and to stealth, 
Had now no safeguard for the 

wealth 
Intrusted by her kinsman kind 
And for such noble use designed. 
' Was Barnard Castle then her 

choice,' 
Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice, 
' Since there the victor's laws or- 
dain 729 
Her father must a space remain ? • 
A fluttered hope his accent shook, 
A fluttered joy was in his look. 
Matilda hastened to reply, 
For anger flashed in Redmond's 

eye; — 
1 Duty,' she said, with gentle grace, 
1 Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of 

place ; 
Else had I for my sire assigned 
Prison less galling to his mind 
Than that his wild-wood haunts 

which sees 
And hears the murmur of the 

Tees, 740 

Recalling thus with every glance 
What captive's sorrow can en- 
hance ; 
But where those woes are highest, 

there 
Needs Rokeby most his daughter's 

care.' 

XXX 

He felt the kindly check she gave, 
And stood abashed — then an- 
swered grave : 
* I sought thy purpose, noble maid, 
Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes 

to aid. 
I have beneath mine own com- 

maud, 
So wills my sire, a gallant band, 



And well could send some horse- 
men wight 751 
To bear the treasure forth by 

night, 
And so bestow it as you deem 
In these ill days may safest seem.' 
4 Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks,' 

she said : 
c O, be it not one day delayed ! 
And, more thy sister-friend to aid, 
Be thou thyself content to hold 
In thine own keeping Mortham's 

goldi 
Safest with thee.' — While thus 
she spoke, 760 

Armed soldiers on their converse 

broke, 
The same of whose approach 

afraid 
The ruffians left their ambuscade. 
Their chief to Wilfrid bended low, 
Then looked around as for a foe. 
• What mean'st thou, friend,' young 

Wycliffe said, 
' Why thus in arms beset the 

glade ? ' — 
4 That would I gladly learn from 

you; 
For up my squadron as I drew 
To exercise our martial game 770 
Upon the moor of Barninghame, 
A stranger told you were waylaid, 
Surrounded, and to death be- 
trayed. 
He had a leader's voice, I ween, 
A falcon's glance, a warrior's 

mien. 
He bade me bring you instant aid ; 
I doubted not and I obeyed.' 

XXXI 

Wilfrid changed color, and amazed 
Turned short and on the speaker 

gazed, 
While Redmond every thicket 

round 780 

Tracked earnest as a questing 

hound, 
And Denzil's carabine he found j 
Sure evidence by which they knew 
The warning was as kind as true. 



352 



ROKEBY 



Wisest it seemed with cautious 

speed 
To leave the dell. It was agreed 
That Redmond with Matilda fair 
And fitting guard should home re- 

pair ; 
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend 
With a strong band his sister- 
friend, 790 
To bear with her from Rokeby's 

bowers 
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers 
Secret and safe the banded chests 
In which the wealth of Mortham 

rests. 
This hasty purpose fixed, they 

part, 
Each with a grieved and anxious 

heart. 



CANTO FIFTH 



The sultry summer day is done, 
The western hills have hid the 

sun, 
But mountain peak and village 

spire 
Retain reflection of his fire. 
Old Barnard's towers are purple 

still 
To those that gaze from Toller- 
hill; 
Distant and high, the tower of 

Bowes 
Like steel upon the anvil glows ; 
And Stanmore's ridge behind that 

lay 
Rich with the spoils of parting 

day, 10 

In crimson and in gold arrayed, 
Streaks yet awhile the closing 

shade, 
Then slow resigns to darkening 

heaven 
The tints which brighter hours 

had given. 
Thus aged men full loath and 

slow 
The vanities of life forego, 



And count their youthful follies 

o'er 
Till memory lends her light no 

more. 

11 

The eve that slow on upland fades 
Has darker closed on Rokeby's 

glades 20 

Where, sunk within their banks 

profound, 
Her guardian streams to meeting 

wound. 
The stately oaks, whose sombre 

frown 
Of noontide made a twilight brown, 
Impervious now to fainter light, 
Of twilight make an early night. 
Hoarse into middle air arose 
The vespers of the roosting crows, 
And with congenial murmurs seem 
To wake the Genii of the stream ; 
For louder clamored Greta's tide, 
And Tees in deeper voice replied, 
And fitful waked the evening wind, 
Fitful in sighs its breath resigned. 
Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul 
Felt in the scene a soft control, 
With lighter footstep pressed the 

ground, 
And often paused to look around ; 
And, though his path was to his 

love, 39 

Could not but linger in the grove, 
To drink the thrilling interest 

dear 
Of awful pleasure checked by fear, 
Such inconsistent moods have we, 
Even when our passions strike the 

key. 

in 
Now, through the wood's dark 

mazes past, 
The opening lawn he reached at 

last 
Where, silvered by the moonlight 

ray, 
The ancient Hall before him lay. 
Those martial terrors long were 

fled 



CANTO FIFTH 



353 



That frowned of old around its 

head : 50 

The battlements, the turrets gray, 
Seemed half abandoned to decay ; 
On barbican and keep of stone 
Stern Time the foeman's work had 

done. 
Where banners the invader braved, 
The harebell now and wallflower 

waved ; 
In the rude guard-room where of 

yore 
Their w r eary hours the warders 

wore, 
Now, while the cheerful fagots 

blaze, 
On the paved floor the spindle 

plays ; 60 

The flanking guns dismounted lie, 
The moat is ruinous and dry, 
The grim portcullis gone — and all 
The fortress turned to peaceful 

Hall. 

IV 

But yet precautions lately ta'en 
Showed danger's day revived 

again ; 
The court-yard wall showed marks 

of care 
The fall'n defences to repair, 
Lending such strength as might 

withstand 
The insult of marauding band. 70 
The beams once more were taught 

to bear 
The trembling drawbridge into air, 
And not till questioned o'er and 

o'er 
For Wilfrid oped the jealous door, 
And when he entered bolt and bar 
Resumed their place with sullen 

3'ar; 
Then, as he crossed the vaulted 

porch, 
The old gray porter raised his 

torch, 
And viewed him o'er from foot to 

head 
Ere to the hall his steps he led. 80 
That huge old hall of knightly 

state 



Dismantled seemed and desolate. 

The moon through transom-shafts 
of stone 

Which crossed the latticed oriels 
shone, 

And by the mournf ul light she gave 

The Gothic vault seemed funeral 
cave. 

Pennon and banner waved no 
more 

O'er beams of stag and tusks of 
boar, 

Nor glimmering arms w r ere mar- 
shalled seen 

To glance those sylvan spoils be- 
tween. 90 

Those arms, those ensigns, borne 
away, 

Accomplished Rokeby's brave 
array, 

But all were lost on Marston's day! 

Yet here and there the moonbeams 
fall 

Where armor yet adorns the wall, 

Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, 

And useless in the modern fight, 

Like veteran relic of the wars 

Known only by neglected scars. 



Matilda soon to greet him came, 
And bade them light the evening 
flame; 10 1 

Said all for parting was prepared, 
And tarried but for Wilfrid's 

guard. 
But then, reluctant to unfold 
His father's avarice of gold, 
He hinted that lest jealous eye 
Should on their precious burden 

pry, 
He judged it best the castle gate 
To enter when the night wore late ; 
And therefore he had left com- 
mand IIO 

With those he trusted of his band 
That they should be atRokebymet 
What time the midnight-watch was 

set. 
Now Redmond came, whose anx- 
ious care 



354 



ROKEBY 



Till then was busied to prepare 
All needful, meetly to arrange 
The mansion for its mournful 

change. 
With Wilfrid's care and kindness 

pleased, n8 

His cold unready hand he seized, 
And pressed it till his kindly strain 
The gentle youth returned again. 
Seemed as between them this was 

said, 
4 Awhile let jealousy be dead, 
And let our contest be whose 

care 
Shall best assist this helpless fair.' 

VI 

There was no speech the truce to 

bind; 
It was a compact of the mind, 
A generous thought at once im- 
pressed 
On either rival's generous breast. 
Matilda well the secret took 130 
From sudden change of mien and 

look, 
And — for not small had been her 

fear 
Of jealous ire and danger near — 
Felt even in her dejected state 
A joy beyond the reach of fate. 
They closed beside the chimney's 

blaze, 
And talked, and hoped for happier 

days, 
And lent their spirits' rising glow 
Awhile to gild impending woe — 
High privilege of youthful time, 
Worth all the pleasures of our 

prime ! 14: 

The bickering fagot sparkled 

bright 
And gave the scene of love to 

sight, 
Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively 

glow, 
Played on Matilda's neck of snow, 
Her nut-brown curls and forehead 

high, 
And laughed in Redmond's azure 

eye. 



Two lovers by the maiden sate 148 
Without a glance of jealous hate ; 
The maid her lovers sat between 
With open brow and equal mien ; 
It is a sight but rarely spied, 
Thanks to man's wrath and wo- 
man's pride. 

VII 

While thus in peaceful guise they 

sate 
A knock alarmed the outer gate, 
And ere the tardy porter stirred 
The tinkling of a harp was heard. 
A manly voice of mellow swell 
Bore burden to the music well : — 

SONG 

4 Summer eve is gone and past, 
Summer dew is falling fast ; 16 x 
I have wandered all the day, 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 
Gentle hearts of gentle kin, 
Take the wandering harper in ! ' 

But the stern porter answer gave, 
With * Get thee hence, thou stroll- 

ing knave ! 
The king wants soldiers; war, I 

trow, 
Were meeter trade for such as 

thou.' 
At this unkind reproof again 170 
Answered the ready Minstrel's 

strain : 

SONG RESUMED 

4 Bid not me, in battle-field, 
Buckler lift or broadsword wield ! 
All my strength and all my art 
Is to touch the gentle heart 
With the wizard notes that ring 
From the peaceful minstrel- 
string.' 

The porter, all unmoved, replied,— 
4 Depart in peace, with Heaven to 

guide ; 
If longer by the gate thou dwell, 
Trust me, thou shalt not part so 

well.' 181 



CANTO FIFTH 



35. 



VIII 

With somewhat of appealing look 
The harper's part young Wilfrid 

took : 
1 These notes so wild and ready 

thrill, 
They show no vulgar minstrel's 

skill; 
Hard were his task to seek a home 
More distant, since the night is 

come ; 
And for his faith I dare engage — 
Your Harpool's blood is soured by 

age; 
His gate, once readily displayed 
To greet the friend, the poor to 

aid, 191 

Now even to me though known of 

old 
Did but reluctantly unfold.' — 
1 O blame not as poor Harpool's 

crime 
An evil of this evil time. 
He deems dependent on his care 
The safety of his patron's heir, 
Nor judges meet to ope the tower 
To guest unknown at parting hour, 
Urging his duty to excess 200 

Of rough and stubborn faithful- 
ness. 
For this poor harper, I would fain 
He may relax : — hark to his 

strain!' 

IX 
SONG RESUMED 

' I have song of war for knight, 
Lay of love for lady bright, 
Fairy tale to lull the heir, 
Goblin grim the maids to scare. 
Dark the night and long till day, 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 

4 Eokeby's lords of martial fame, 
I can count them name by name ; 
Legends of their line there be, 212 
Known to few but known to me ; 
If you honor Rokeby's kin, 
Take the wandering harper in ! 



1 Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
For the harp and for the bard ; 
Baron's race throve never well 
Where the curse of minstrel fell. 
If you love that noble kin, 220 
Take the weary harper in ! ' 

4 Hark ! Harpool parleys — there 

is hope,' 
Said Redmond, ' that the gate will 

ope.' — 
'For all thy brag and boast, I 

trow, 
Naught knowest thou of the Felon 

Sow,' 
Quoth Harpool, ' nor how Greta- 
side 
She roamed and Rokeby forest 

wide; 
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the 

beast 
To Richmond's friars to make a 

feast. 
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 230 
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale 
That well could strike with sword 

amain, 
And of the valiant son of Spain, 
Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir 

Ralph ; 
There were a jest to make us 

laugh ! 
If thou canst tell it, in yon shed, 
Thou 'st won thy supper and thy 

bed.' 



Matilda smiled ; ' Cold hope, 1 said 
she, 

*From Harpool's love of min- 
strelsy ! 239 

But for this harper may we dare, 

Redmond, to mend his couch and 
fare ? ' — 

1 0, ask me not ! — At minstrel- 
string 

My heart from infancy would 
spring ; 

Nor can I hear its simplest strain 

But it brings Erin's dream again, 



356 



ROKEBY 



When placed by Owen Lysagh's 

knee — 
The Filea of O'Neale was he, 
A blind and bearded man whose 

eld 
Was sacred as a prophet's held — 
I 've seen a ring of rugged kerne, 
With aspects shaggy, wild, and 

stern, 251 

Enchanted by the master's lay, 
Linger around the livelong day, 
Shift from wild rage to wilder glee, 
To love, to grief, to ecstasy, 
And feel each varied change of 

soul 
Obedient to the bard's control. — 
Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no 

more ; 259 

Nor Owen's harp beside the blaze 
Tell maiden's love or hero's praise ! 
The mantling brambles hide thy 

hearth, 
Centre of hospitable mirth ; 
All undistinguished in the glade, 
My sires' glad home is prostrate 

laid, 
Their vassals wander wide and 

far, 
Serve foreign lords in distant war, 
And now the stranger's sons enjoy 
The lovely woods of Clandeboy ! ' 
He spoke, and proudly turned 

aside 270 

The starting tear to dry and hide. 

XI 

Matilda's dark and softened eye 
Was glistening ere O'Neale's was 

dry. 
Her hand upon his arm she laid — 
' It is the will of Heaven,' she 

said. 
1 And think'st thou, Redmond, I 

can part 
From this loved home with light- 
some heart, 
Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 
Even from my infancy was dear ? 
For in this calm domestic bound 



Were all Matilda's pleasures 

found. 281 

That hearth my sire was wont to 

grace 
Full soon may be a stranger's 

place ; 
This hall in which a child I played 
Like thine, dear Kedmond, lowly 

laid, 
The bramble and the thorn may 

braid ; 
Or, passed for aye from me and 

mine, 
It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 
Yet is this consolation given, 
My Redmond, — 't is the will of 

Heaven.' 290 

Her word, her action, and her 

phrase 
Were kindly as in early days ; 
For cold reserve had lost its power 
In sorrow's sympathetic hour. 
Young Redmond dared not trust 

his voice ; 
But rather had it been his choice 
To share that melancholy hour 
Than, armed with all a chieftain's 

power, 
In full possession to enjoy 
Slieve-Donard wide and Clande- 
boy. 300 

XII 

The blood left Wilfrid's ashen 

cheek, 
Matilda sees and hastes to 

speak. — 
' Happy in friendship's ready aid, 
Let all my murmurs here be staid ! 
And Rokeby's maiden will not 

part 
From Rokeby's hall with moody 

heart. 
This night at least for Rokeby's 

fame 
The hospitable hearth shall flame/ 
And ere its native heir retire 
Find for the wanderer rest and fire, 
While this poor harper by the 

blaze 3 1 1 



CANTO FIFTH 



357 



Recounts the tale of other days. 
Bid Harpool ope the door with 

speed, 
Admit him and relieve each 

need. — 
Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt 

thou try 
Thy minstrel skill?— Nay, no 

reply — 
And look not sad ! — I guess thy 

thought ; 
Thy verse with laurels would he 

bought, 
And poor Matilda, landless now, 
Has not a garland for thy brow. 
True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's 

glades, 321 

Nor wander more in Greta shades ; 
But sure, no rigid jailer, thou 
Wilt a short prison-walk allow 
Where summer flowers grow wild 

at will 
On Marwood - chase and Toller 

Hill; 
Then holly green and lily gay 
Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay.' 
The mournful youth a space aside 
To tune Matilda's harp applied, 
And then a low sad descant rung 
As prelude to the lay he sung. 332 

XIII 
THE CYPRESS WREATH 

1 O, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 
Too lively glow the lilies light, 
The varnished holly's all too 

bright, 
The May-flower and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than 

mine ; 
But, lady, weave no wreath for 

me, 339 

Or weave it of the cypress-tree J 

'Let dimpled Mirth his temples 

twine 
With tendrils of the laughing vine ; 
The manly oak, the pensive yew, 
To patriot and to sage be due ; 



The myrtle bough bids lovers live, 
But that Matilda will not give ; 
Then, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 

' Let merry England proudly rear 
Her blended roses bought so dear ; 
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 351 
With heath and harebell dipped in 

dew; 
On favored Erin's crest be seen 
The flower she loves of emerald 

green — 
But, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 

1 Strike the wild harp while maids 
prepare 

The ivy meet for minstrel's hair; 

And, while his crown of laurel- 
leaves 

With bloody hand the victor 
weaves, 360 

Let the loud trump his triumph 
tell; 

But when you hear the passing- 
bell, 

Then, lady, twine a wreath for me, 

And tw r ine it of the cypress-tree. 

'Yes! twine for me the cypress- 
bough ; 

But, O Matilda, twine not now ! 

Stay till a few brief months are 
past, 

And I have looked and loved my 
last! 

When villagers my shroud bestrew 

With pansies, rosemary, and 
rue, — 370 

Then, lady, weave a wreath for me, 

And weave it of the cypress-tree.' 

XIV 

O'Neale observed the starting 
tear, 

And spoke with kind and blithe- 
some cheer — 

' No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 

When mourns the land thy silent 
lay, 



35* 



ROKEBY 



Shall many a wreath be freely 

wove 
By hand of friendship and of love. 
I would not wish that rigid Fate 
Had doomed thee to a captive's 

state, 380 

Whose hands are bound by honor's 

law, 
Who wears a sword he must not 

draw; 
But were it so, in minstrel pride 
The land together would we ride 
On prancing steeds, like harpers 

old, 
Bound for the halls of barons bold ; 
Each lover of the lyre we 'd seek 
From Michael's Mount to Skid- 
daw's Peak, 
Survey wild Albin's mountain 

strand, 389 

And roam green Erin's lovely land, 
While thou the gentler souls should 

move 
With lay of pity and of love, 
And I, thy mate, in rougher strain 
Would sing of war and warriors 

slain. 
Old England's bards were van- 
quished then, 
And Scotland's vaunted Haw- 

thornden, 
And, silenced on Iernian shore, 
M'Curtin's harp should charm no 

more ! ' 
In lively mood he spoke to wile 
From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a 

smile. 400 

xv 
1 But,' said Matilda, * ere thy name, 
Good Redmond, gain its destined 

fame, 
Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 
Thy brother-minstrel to the hall ? 
Bid all the household too attend, 
Each in his rank a humble friend ; 
I know their faithful hearts will 

grieve 
When their poor mistress takes 

her leave ; 
So let the horn and beaker flow 
To mitigate their parting woe.' 410 



The harper came ; — in youth's 

first prime 
Himself ; in mode of olden time 
His garb was fashioned, to express 
The ancient English minstrel's 

dress, 
A seemly gown of Kendal green 
With gorget closed of silver sheen ; 
His harp in silken scarf was slung, 
And by his side an anlace hung. 
It seemed some masquer's quaint 

array 
For revel or for holiday. 420 

XVI 

He made obeisance with a free 
Yet studied air of courtesy. 
Each look and accent framed to 

please 
Seemed to affect a playful ease ; 
His face was of that doubtful kind 
That wins the eye, but not the 

mind ; 
Yet harsh it seemed to deem amiss 
Of brow so young and smooth as 

this. 
His was the subtle look and sly 
That, spying all, seems naught to 

spy; 430 

Round all the group his glances 

stole, 
Unmarked themselves, to mark 

the whole. 
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look, 
Nor could the eye of Redmond 

brook. 
To the suspicious or the old 
Subtle and dangerous and bold 
Had seemed this self-invited guest ; 
But young our lovers, — and the 

rest, 
Wrapt in their sorrow and their 

fear 439 

At parting of their Mistress dear, 
Tear-blinded to the castle-hall 
Came as to bear her funeral pall. 

XVII 

All that expression base was gone 
When waked the guest his minstrel 
tone; 



CANTO FIFTH 



359 



It fled at inspiration's call, 
As erst the demon fled from Saul. 
More noble glance be cast around, 
More free-drawn breath inspired 

the sound, 
His pulse beat bolder and more 

high 
In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 450 
Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er, 
Sunk with the lay that bade it soar ! 
His soul resumed with habit's 

chain 
Its vices wild and follies vain, 
And gave the talent with him born, 
To be a common curse and scorn. 
Such was the youth whom Eokeby's 

maid 
With condescending kindness 

prayed 
Here to renew the strains she 

loved, 
At distance heard and well ap- 
proved. 460 

XVIII 

SONG 

THE HARP 

I was a wild and wayward boy, 
My childhood scorned each child- 
ish toy ; 
Retired from all, reserved and coy. 

To musing prone, 
I wooed my solitary joy, 
My Harp alone. 

My youth with bold ambition's 

mood 
Despised the humble stream and 

wood 
Where my poor father's cottage 

stood, 
To fame unknown ;— 470 
What should my soaring views 

make good ? 
My Harp alone ! 

Love came with all his frantic fire, 
And wild romance of vain desire : 
The baron's daughter heard my 
lyre 



And praised the tone ; — 
What could presumptuous hope 
inspire ? 
My Harp alone ! 

At manhood's touch the bubble 

burst, 
And manhood's pride the vision 
curst, 480 

And all that had my folly nursed 

Love's sway to own ; 
Yet spared the spell that lulled me 
first, 
My Harp alone ! 

Woe came with war, and want 

with woe, 
And it was mine to undergo 
Each outrage of the rebel foe : — 

Can aught atone 
My fields laid waste, my cot laid 
low? 
My Harp alone ! 490 

Ambition's dreams I've seen de- 
part, 
Have rued of penury the smart, 
Have felt of love the venomed 
dart, 
When hope was flown ; 
Yet rests one solace to my heart,— 
My Harp alone ! 

Then over mountain, moor, and 

hill, 
My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee 

Still ; 

And when this life of want and ill 
Is wellnigh gone, 500 

Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill 
My Harp alone ! 

XIX 

' A pleasing lay ! ' Matilda said ; 
But Harpool shook his old gray 

head, 
And took his baton and his torch 
To seek his guard-room in the 

porch. 
Edmund observed — with sudden 

change 



3 6 ° 



ROKEBY 



Among the strings his fingers 

range, 
Until they waked a bolder glee 
Of military melody ; 510 

Then paused amid the martial 

sound, 
And looked with well-feigned fear 

around ; — 
1 None to this noble house belong,' 
He said, 'that would a minstrel 

wrong 
Whose fate has been through good 

and ill 
To love his Royal Master still, 
And with your honored leave 

would fain 
Rejoice you with a loyal strain.' 
Then, as assured by sign and 

look, 
The warlike tone again he took ; 
And Harpool stopped and turned 

to hear 521 

A ditty of the Cavalier. 

xx 

SONG 
THE CAVALIER 

While the dawn on the mountain 

was misty and gray, 
My true love has mounted his 

steed and away, 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and 

o'er down ; 
Heaven shield the brave gallant 

that fights for the Crown ! 

He has doffed the silk doublet the 

breastplate to bear, 
He has placed the steel-cap o'er 

his long-flowing hair, 
From his belt to his stirrup his 

broadsword hangs down, — 
Heaven shield the brave gallant 

that fights for the Crown ! 530 

For the rights of fair England that 
broadsword he draws, 

Her King is his leader, her Church 
is his cause ; 



His watchword is honor, his pay is 

renown, — 
God strike with the gallant that 

strikes for the Crown ! 

They may boast of their Fairfax, 
their Waller, and all 

The roundheaded rebels of West- 
minster Hall; 

But tell these bold traitors of Lon- 
don's proud town, 

That the spears of the North have 
encircled the Crown. 

There 's Derby and Cavendish, 

dread of their foes ; 
There 's Erin's high Ormond and 

Scotland's Montrose ! 540 
Would you match the base Skip- 

pon, and Massey, and Brown, 
With the Barons of England that 

fight for the Crown ? 

Now joy to the crest of the brave 
Cavalier ! 

Be his banner unconquered, resist- 
less his spear, 

Till in peace and in triumph his 
toils he may drown, 

In a pledge to fair England, her 
Church, and her Crown. 

XXI 

' Alas ! ' Matilda said, ' that strain, 
Good harper, now is heard in 

vain ! 
The time has been at such a sound 
When Rokeby's vassals gathered 

round, 550 

An hundred manly hearts would 

bound ; 
But now, the stirring verse we 

hear 
Like trump in dying soldier's ear ! 
Listless and sad the notes we 

own, 
The power to answer them is 

flown. 
Yet not without his meet applause 
Be he that sings the rightful cause, 
Even when the crisis of its fate 



CANTO FIFTH 



36i 



To human eye seems desperate. 
While Rokeby's heir such power 

retains, 560 

Let this slight guerdon pay thy 

pains: — 
And lend thy harp ; I fain would 

try 
If my poor skill can aught supply, 
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall, 
To mourn the cause in which we 

fall.' 

XXII 

The harper with a downcast look 
And trembling hand her bounty 

took. 
As yet the conscious pride of art 
Had steeled him in his treacher- 
ous part ; 
A powerful spring of force un- 
guessed 570 

That hath each gentler mood sup- 
pressed, 
And reigned in many a human 

breast, 
From his that plans the red cam- 
paign 
To his that wastes the woodland 

reign. 
The failing wing, the blood-shot 

eye 
The sportsman marks with apathy, 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drowned in his own successful 

skill. 
The veteran, too, who now no 
more 579 

Aspires to head the battle's roar, 
Loves still the triumph of his art, 
And traces on the pencilled chart 
Some stern invader's destined 

way 
Through blood and ruin to his 

prey; 
Patriots to death, and towns to 

flame 
He dooms, to raise another's name 
And shares the guilt, though not 

the fame. 
What pays him for his span of 
time 



Spent in premeditating crime ? 
What against pity arms his heart? 
It is the conscious pride of art. 591 

XXIII 

But principles in Edmund's mind 
Were baseless, vague, and unde- 
fined. 
His soul, like bark with rudder 

lost, 
On passion's changeful tide was 

tost; 
Xor vice nor virtue had the power 
Beyond the impression of the 

hour ; 
And 0, when passion rules, how 

rare 
The hours that fall to Virtue's 

share ! 
Yet now she roused her — for the 

pride 600 

That lack of sterner guilt supplied 
Could scarce support him when 

arose 
The lay that mourned Matilda's 

woes. 



SONG 

THE FAREWELL 

1 The sound of Rokeby's woods I 
hear, 
They miugle with the song : 
Dark Greta's voice is in mine 
ear, 
I must not hear them long. 
From every loved and native 
haunt 
The native heir must stray, 
And, like a ghost whom sunbeams 
daunt, 610 

Must part before the day. 

'Soon from the halls my fathers 
reared, 

Their scutcheons may descend, 
A line so long beloved and feared 

May soon obscurely end. 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

Shall bid these echoes swell ; 



362 



ROKEBY 



Yet shall they hear her proudly 
own 
The cause in which we fell.' 

The lady paused, and then 

again 620 

Resumed the lay in loftier 
strain. — 

XXIV 

* Let our halls and towers'decay, 

Be our name and line forgot, 
Lands and manors pass away, — 

We but share our monarch's 
lot. 
If no more our annals show 

Battles won and banners taken, 
Still in death, defeat, and woe, 

Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 

* Constant still in danger's hour, 

Princes owned our father's 
aid ; 63 1 

Lands and honors, wealth and 
power, 
Well their loyalty repaid. 
Perish wealth and power and 
pride, 
Mortal boons by mortals given ! 
But let constancy abide, 
Constancy 's the gift of Heaven.' 

XXV 

While thus Matilda's lay was 

heard, 
A thousand thoughts in Edmund 

stirred. 
In peasant life he might have 

known 640 

As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 
But village notes could ne'er sup- 
ply 
That rich and varied melody, 
And ne'er in cottage maid was 

seen 
The easy dignity of mien, 
Claiming respect yet waiving 

state, 
That marks the daughters of the 

great. 
Yet not perchance had these alone 



His scheme of purposed guilt o'er- 

thrown ; 
But while her energy of mind 650 
Superior rose to griefs combined, 
Lending its kindling to her eye, 
Giving her form new majesty, — 
To Edmund's thought Matilda 

seemed 
The very object he had dreamed 
When, long ere guilt his soul had 

known, 
In Winston bowers he mused 

alone, 
Taxing his fancy to combine 
The face, the air, the voice divine, 
Of princess fair by cruel fate 660 
Reft of her honors, power, and 

state, 
Till to her rightful realm restored 
By destined hero's conquering 

sword. 

XXVI 

'Such was my vision!' Edmund 

thought ; 
'And have I then the ruin 

wrought 
Of such a maid that fancy ne'er 
In fairest vision formed her peer? 
Was it my hand that could un- 
close 
The postern to her ruthless foes ? 
Foes lost to honor, law, and faith, 
Their kindest mercy sudden 

death! 671 

Have I done this? I, who have 

swore 
That if the globe such angel bore, 
I would have traced its circle 

broad 
To kiss the ground on which she 

trode! — 
And now— O, would that earth 

would rive 
And close upon me while alive ! — 
Is there no hope?— is all then 

lost ? — 
Bertram 's already on his post ! 
Even now beside the hall's arched 

door 680 

I saw his shadow cross the floor ! 



CANTO FIFTH 



363 



He was to wait my signal strain — 
A little respite tbus we gain : 
By what I heard the menials say, 
Young Wycliffe's troop are on 

their way — 
Alarm precipitates the crime ! 
My harp must wear away the 

time.' — 
And then in accents faint and 

low 
He faltered forth a tale of woe. 

XXVII 
BALLAD 

' " And whither would you lead me 

then?" 690 

Quoth the friar of orders gray ; 

And the ruffians twain replied 

again, 

" By a dying woman to pray." — 

4 " I see," he said, " a lovely sight, 
A sight bodes little harm, 

A lady as a lily bright 
With an infant on her arm." — 

* " Then do thine office, friar gray, 
And see thou shrive her free ! 

Else shall the sprite that parts to- 
night 700 
Fling all its guilt on thee. 

4 " Let mass be said and trentals 
read 

When thou 'rt to convent gone, 
And bid the bell of Saint Benedict 

Toll out its deepest tone." 

4 The shrift is done, the friar is 
gone, 

Blindfolded as he came — 
Next morning all in Littlecot Hall 

Were weeping for their dame. 

' Wild Darrell is an altered 
man, 710 

The village crones can tell ; 
He looks pale as clay and strives 
to pray, 
If he hears the convent bell. 



4 If prince or peer cross Darrell's 
way, 

He '11 beard him in his pride — 
If he meet a friar of orders gray, 

He droops and turns aside.' 

XXVIII 

'Harper! methinks thy magic 

lays,' 
Matilda said, ■ can goblins raise ! 
Wellnigh my fancy can discern 
Near the dark porch a visage 

stern; 721 

E'en now in yonder shadowy nook 
I see it! — Redmond, Wilfrid, 

look ! — 
A human form distinct and 

clear — 
God, for thy mercy ! — It draws 

near ! ' 
She saw too true. Stride after 

stride, 
The centre of that chamber wide 
Fierce Bertram gained; then 

made a stand, 
And, proudly waving with his 

hand, 
Thundered — ' Be still, upon your 

lives! — 730 

He bleeds who speaks, he dies 

who strives.' 
Behind their chief the robber 

crew, 
Forth from the darkened portal 

drew 
In silence — save that echo dread 
Returned their heavy measured 

tread. 
The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 
Their arms to gleam, their plumes 

to wave ; 
File after file in order pass, 
Like forms on Banquo's mystic 

glass. 
Then, halting at their leader's 

sign, 740 

At once they formed and curved 

their line, 
Hemming within its crescent drear 
Their victims like a herd of deer. 
Another sign, and to the aim 



3^4 



ROKEBY 



Levelled at once their muskets 

came, 
As waiting but their chieftain's 

word 
To make their fatal volley heard. 

XXIX 

Back in a heap the menials drew ; 

Yet, even in mortal terror true, 

Their pale and startled group op- 
pose 75 o 

Between Matilda and the foes. 

1 O, haste thee, Wilfrid ! ' Redmond 
cried ; 

' Undo that wicket by thy side ! 

Bear hence Matilda — gain the 
wood 

The pass may be awhile made 
good — 

Thy band ere this must sure be 
nigh — 

speak not — dally not — but fly ! ' 
While yet the crowd their motions 

hide, 
Through the low wicket door they 

glide. 
Through vaulted passages they 
wind, 760 

In Gothic intricacy twined : 
Wilfrid half led and half he bore 
Matilda to the postern door, 
And safe beneath the forest tree, 
The lady stands at liberty. 
The moonbeams, the fresh gale's 

caress, 
Renewed suspended conscious- 
ness;— 

1 Where 's Redmond ? ' eagerly she 

cries : 
\Thou answer' st not — he dies ! he 

dies ! 
And thou hast left him all bereft 
Of mortal aid — with murderers 

left! 771 

I know it well — he would not 

yield 
His sword to man — his doom is 

sealed ! 
For my scorned life, which thou 

hast bought 
At price of his, I thank thee not.' 



XXX 

The unjust reproach, the angry 

look, 
The heart of Wilfrid could not 

brook, 
' Lady,' he said, * my band so near, 
In safety thou mayst rest thee 

here. 
For Redmond's death thou shalt 

not mourn, 780 

If mine can buy his safe return.' 
He turned away — his heart 

throbbed high, 
The tear was bursting from his 

eye; 
The sense of her injustice pressed 
Upon the maid's distracted 

breast,— 
'Stay, Wilfrid, stay! all aid is 

vain I ' 
He heard but turned him not 

again ! 
He reaches now the postern-door, 
Now enters — and is seen no more. 

XXXI 

With all the agony that e'er 790 
Was gendered 'tvvixt suspense and 

fear, 
She watched the line of windows 

tall 
Whose Gothic lattice lights the 

Hall, 
Distinguished by the paly red 
The lamps in dim reflection shed, 
While all beside in wan moonlight 
Each grated casement glimmered 

white. 
No sight of harm, no sound of ill, 
It is a deep and midnight still. 
Who looked upon the scene had 

guessed 800 

All in the castle were at rest — 
When sudden on the windows 

shone 
A lightning flash just seen and 

gone ! 
A shot is heard— again the flame 
Flashed thick and fast — a volley 

came! 
Then echoed wildly from within 



CANTO FIFTH 



365 



Of shout and scream the mingled 

din, 
And weapon-clash and maddening 

cry, 
Of those who kill and those who 

die! — 
As filled the hall with sulphurous 

smoke, 810 

More red, more dark, the death- 
flash broke, 
And forms were on the lattice 

cast 
That struck or struggled as they 

past. 

XXXII 

What sounds upon the midnight 

wind 
Approach so rapidly behind ? 
It is, it is, the tramp of steeds, 
Matilda hears the sound, she 

speeds, 
Seizes upon the leader's rein — 
* O, haste to aid ere aid be vain ! 
Fly to the postern — gain the 

hall!' 820 

From saddle spring the troopers 

all; 
Their gallant steeds at liberty 
Rung wild along the moonlight lea. 
But ere they burst upon the scene 
Full stubborn had the conflict 

been. 
When Bertram marked Matilda's 

flight, 
It gave the signal for the fight ; 
And Eokeby's veterans, seamed 

with scars 
Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars, 
Their momentary panic o'er, 830 
Stood to the arms which then they 

bore — 
For they were weaponed and pre- 
pared 
Their mistress on her way to 

guard. 
Then cheered them to the fight 

O'Xeale, 
Then pealed the shot, and clashed 

the steel ; 
The war-smoke soon with sable 

breath 



Darkened the scene of blood and 

death, 
While on the few defenders close 
The bandits with redoubled blows, 
And, twice driven back, yet fierce 

and fell 840 

Renew the charge with frantic 

yell. 

XXXIII 

Wilfrid has fallen — but o'er him 

stood 
Young Redmond soiled with smoke 

and blood, 
Cheering his mates with heart and 

hand 
Still to make good their desperate 

stand : 
1 Up, comrades, up ! In Rokeby 

halls 
Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 
What! faint ye for their savage 

cry, 
Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt 

your eye ? 
These rafters have returned a 

shout S50 

As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout, 
As thick a smoke these hearths 

have given 
At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even. 
Stand to it yet ! renew the fight 
For Rokeby's and Matilda's right ! 
These slaves ! they dare not hand 

to hand 
Bide buffet from a true man's 

brand.' 
Impetuous, active, fierce, and 

young, 
Upon the advancing foes he 

sprung. 
Woe to the wretch at whom is 

bent 860 

His brandished falchion's sheer 

descent ! 
Backward they scattered as he 

came, 
Like wolves before the levin flame, 
When, 'mid their howling conclave 

driven, 
Hath glanced the thunderbolt of 

heaven. 



3 66 



ROKEBY 



Bertram rushed on — but Harpool 

clasped 
His knees, although in death he 

gasped, 
His falling corpse before him 

flung, 
And round the trammelled ruffian 

clung. 
Just then the soldiers filled the 

dome, 870 

And shouting charged the felons 

home 
So fiercely that in panic dread, 
They broke, they yielded, fell, or 

fled, 
Bertram's stern voice they heed 

no more, 
Though heard above the battle's 

roar ; 
While, trampling down the dying 

man, 
He strove with volleyed threat 

and ban 
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 
To rally up the desperate fight. 

XXXIV 

Soon murkier clouds the hall en- 
fold 880 
Than e'er from battle-thunders 

rolled, 
So dense the combatants scarce 

know 
To aim or to avoid the blow. 
Smothering and blindfold grows 

the fight — 
But soon shall dawn a dismal 

light ! 
Mid cries and clashing arms there 

came 
The hollow sound of rushing 

flame; 
New horrors on the tumult dire 
Arise — the castle is on fire ! 
Doubtful if chance had cast the 

brand 890 

Or frantic Bertram's desperate 

hand, 
Matilda saw — for frequent broke 
From the dim casements gusts of 

smoke, 



Yon tower, which late so clear de- 
fined 

On the fair hemisphere reclined 

That, pencilled on its azure pure, 

The eye could count each embra- 
sure, 

Now, swathed within the sweeping 
cloud, 

Seems giant-spectre in his shroud ; 

Till, from each loop-hole flashing 
light, 900 

A spout of fire shines ruddy bright, 

And, gathering to united glare, 

Streams high into the midnight 
air; 

A dismal beacon, far and wide 

That wakened Greta's slumbering 
side. 

Soon all beneath, through gallery 
long 

And pendent arch, the fire flashed 
strong, 

Snatching whatever could main- 
tain, 

Raise, or extend its furious reign ; 

Startling with closer cause of 
dread 910 

The females who the conflict fled, 

And now rushed forth upon the 
plain, 

Filling the air with clamors vain, 

XXXV 

But ceased not yet the hall within 
The shriek, the shout, the carnage- 
din, 
Till bursting lattices give proof 
The flames have caught the raf- 
tered roof. 
What! wait they till its beams 

amain 
Crash on the slayers and the slain ? 
The alarm is caught— the draw- 
bridge falls, 920 
The warriors hurry from the walls, 
But by the conflagration's light 
Upon the lawn renew the fight. 
Each straggling felon down was 

hewed, 
Not one could gain the sheltering 
wood ; 



CANTO FIFTH 



3^7 



But forth the affrighted harper 

sprung, 
And to Matilda's robe he clung. 
Her shriek, entreaty, and command 
Stopped the pursuer's lifted hand. 
Denzil and he alive were ta'en ; 930 
The rest save Bertram all are 

slain. 

xxxvi 

And where is Bertram? — Soaring 

high, 
The general flame ascends the 

sky ; 
In gathered group the soldiers 

gaze 
Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
When, like infernal demon, sent 
Red from his penal element, 
To plague and to pollute the air, 
His face all gore, on fire his hair, 
Forth from the central mass of 

smoke 940 

The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
His brandished sword on high he 

rears, 
Then plunged among opposing 

spears ; 
Round his left arm his mantle 

trussed, 
Received and foiled three lances' 

thrust ; 
Nor these his headlong course 

withstood, 
Like reeds he snapped the tough 

ashwood. 
In vain his foes around himelung ; 
With matchless force aside he 

flung 949 

Their boldest, — as the bull at bay 
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way, 
Through forty foes his path he 

made, 
And safely gained the forest glade. 

XXXVII 

Scarce was this final conflict o'er 
When from the postern Redmond 

bore 
Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft, 



Had in the fatal hall been left, 
Deserted there by all his train ; 
But Redmond saw and turned 

again. 959 

Beneath an oak he laid him down 
That in the blaze gleamed ruddy 

brown, 
And then his mantle's clasp un- 
did; 
Matilda held his drooping head, 
Till, given to breathe the freer 

air, 
Returning life repaid their care. 
He gazed on them with heavy 

sigh, — 
1 1 could have wished even thus to 

die!'- 
No more he said,— for now with 

speed 
Each trooper had regained his 

steed ; 969 

The ready palfreys stood arrayed 
For Redmond and for Rokeby's 

maid ; 
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain, 
One leads his charger by the rein. 
But oft Matilda looked behind, 
As up the vale of Tees they wind, 
Where far the mansion of her sires 
Beaconed the dale with midnight 

fires. 
In gloomy arch above them spread, 
The clouded heaven lowered 

bloody red ; 979 

Beneath in sombre light the flood 
Appeared to roll in waves of blood. 
Then one by one was heard to 

fall 
The tower, the donjon- keep, the 

hall. 
Each rushing down with thunder 

sound 
A space the conflagration drowned ; 
Till gathering strength again it 

rose, 
Announced its triumph in its close, 
Shook wide its light the landscape 

o'er, 
Then sunk — and Rokeby was no 

more! 



3 68 



ROKEBY 



CANTO SIXTH 



The summer sun, whose early 

power 
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower 
And rouse her with his matin ray 
Her duteous orisons to pay, 
That morning sun has three times 

seen 
The flowers unfold on Rokeby 

green, 
But sees no more the slumbers fly 
From fair Matilda's hazel eye ; 
That morning sun has three times 

broke 
On Rokeby's glades of elm and 

oak, 10 

But, rising from their sylvan 

screen, 
Marks no gray turrets glance be- 
tween. 
A shapeless mass lie keep and 

tower, 
That, hissing to the morning 

shower, 
Can but with smouldering vapor 

pay 
The early smile of summer day. 
The peasant, to his labor bound, 
Pauses to view the blackened 

mound, 
Striving amid the ruined space 
Each well - remembered spot to 

trace. 20 

That length of frail and fire- 
scorched wall 
Once screened the hospitable 

hall; 
When yonder broken arch was 

whole, 
'T was there was dealt the weekly 

dole; 
And where yon tottering columns 

nod 
The chapel sent the hymn to God. 
So flits the world's uncertain span ! 
Nor zeal for God nor love for man 
Gives mortal monuments a date 
Beyond the power of Time and 

Fate. 30 



The towers must share the build. 

er's doom ; 
Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : 
But better boon benignant Heaven 
To Faith and Charity has given, 
And bids the Christian hope sub- 
lime 
Transcend the bounds of Fate and 
Time. 

11 

Now the third night of summer 

came 
Since that which witnessed Roke- 
by's flame. 
On Brignall cliffs and Scargill 

brake 
The owlet's homilies awake, 40 
The bittern screamed from rush 

and flag, 
The raven slumbered on his crag, 
Forth from his den the otter 

drew,— 
Grayling and trout their tyrant 

knew, 
As between reed and sedge he 

peers, 
With fierce round snout and sharp- 
ened ears, 
Or prowling by the moonbeam cool 
Watches the stream or swims the 

pool ; — 
Perched on his wonted eyrie high, 
Sleep sealed the tercelet's wearied 

eye, 50 

That all the day had watched so 

well 
The cushat dart across the dell. 
In dubious beam reflected shone 
That lofty jliff of pale gray stone 
Beside whose base the secret cave 
To rapine late a refuge gave. 
The crag's wild crest of copse and 

yew 
On Greta's breast dark shadows 

threw, 
Shadows that met or shunned the 

sight 59 

With every change of fitful light, 
As hope and fear alternate chase 
Our course through life's uncertain 

race. . . 



CANTO SIXTH 



369 



in 
Gliding by crag and copsewood 

green, 
A solitary form was seen 
To trace with stealthy pace the 

wold, 
Like fox that seeks the midnight 

fold, 
And pauses oft, and cowers dis- 
mayed 
At every breath that stirs the 

shade. 68 

He passes now the ivy bush, — 
The owl has seen him and is hush ; 
He passes now the doddered oak- 
He heard the startled raven croak ; 
Lower and lower he descends, 
Rustle the leaves, the brushwood 

bends ; 
The otter hears him tread the 

shore, 
And dives and is beheld no more ; 
And by the cliff of pale gray stone 
The midnight wanderer stands 

alone. 
Methinks that by the moon we 

trace 79 

A well-remembered form and face ! 
That stripling shape, that cheek 

so pale, 
Combine to tell a rueful tale, 
Of powers misused, of passion's 

force, 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
'T is Edmund's eye at every sound 
That flings that guilty glance 

around ; 
'T is Edmund's trembling haste 

divides 
The brushwood that the cavern 

hides ; 
And when its narrow porch lies 

bare 
'T is Edmund's form that enters 

there. 90 

IV 

His flint and steel have sparkled 

bright, 
A lamp hath lent the cavern light. 
Fearful and quick his eye surveys 



Each angle of the gloomy maze. 
Since last he left that stern abode, 
It seemed as none its floor had 

trode ; 
Untouched appeared the various 

spoil, 
The purchase of his comrades' 

toil; 
Masks and disguises grimed with 

mud, 
Arms broken and defiled with 

blood, 100 

And all the nameless tools that aid 
Night-felons in their lawless trade, 
Upon the gloomy walls were hung 
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung. 
Still on the sordid board appear 
The relics of the noontide cheer : 
Flagons and emptied flasks were 

there, 
And bench o'erthrown and shat- 
tered chair ; 
And all around the semblance 

showed, 
As when the final revel glowed, 1 10 
When the red sun was setting fast 
And parting pledge Guy Denzil 

past. 
1 To Rokeby treasure-vaults ! ' they 

quaffed, 
And shouted loud and wildly 

laughed, 
Poured maddening from the rocky 

door, 
And parted — to return no more ! 
They found in Rokeby vaults their 

doom,— 
A bloody death, a burning tomb ! 



There his own peasant dress he 
spies, 

Doffed to assume that quaint dis- 
guise, 120 

And shuddering thought upon his 
glee 

When pranked in garb of min- 
strelsy. 

' O, be the fatal art accurst,' 

He cried, ' that moved my folly 
first, 



370 



ROKEBY 



Till, bribed by bandits' base ap- 
plause, 
I burst through God's and Na- 
ture's laws ! 
Three summer days are scantly 

past 
Since I have trod this cavern last, 
A thoughtless wretch, and prompt 

to err — 
But 0, as yet no murderer ! 130 
Even now I list my comrades' 

cheer. 
That general laugh is in mine ear 
Which raised my pulse and steeled 

my heart, 
As I rehearsed my treacherous 

part — 
And would that all since then 

could seem 
The phantom of a fever's dream ! 
But fatal memory notes too well 
The horrors of the dying yell 
From my despairing mates that 

broke 
When flashed the fire and rolled 

the smoke, 140 

When the avengers shouting came 
And hemmed us 'twixt the sword 

and flame ! 
My frantic flight— the lifted 

brand — 
That angel's interposing hand! — 
If for my life from slaughter freed 
I yet could pay some grateful 

meed ! 
Perchance this object of my quest 
May aid' — he turned nor spoke 

the rest. 

VI 

Due northward from the rugged 
hearth 

With paces five he meets the 
earth, 150 

Then toiled with mattock to ex- 
plore 

The entrails of the cavern floor, 

Nor paused till deep beneath the 
ground 

His search a small steel casket 
found. 



Just as he stooped to loose its 

hasp 
His shoulder felt a giant grasp ; 
He started and looked up aghast, 
Then shrieked! — 'T was Bertram 

held him fast. 
' Fear not ! » he said ; but who 

could hear 
That deep stern voice and cease 

to fear ? 160 

' Fear not ! — By heaven, he shakes 

as much 
As partridge in the falcon's 

clutch : ' 
He raised him and unloosed his 

hold, 
While from the opening casket 

rolled 
A chain and reliquaire of gold. 
Bertram beheld it with surprise, 
Gazed on its fashion and device, 
Then, cheering Edmund as he 

could, 
Somewhat he smoothed his rugged 

mood, 
For still the youth's half-lifted eye 
Quivered with terror's agony, 171 
And sidelong glanced as to ex- 
plore 
In meditated flight the door. 
'Sit,' Bertram said, * from danger 

free : 
Thou canst not and thou shalt not 

flee. 
Chance brings me hither ; hill and 

plain 
I 've sought for refuge-place in 

vain. 
And tell me now, thou aguish boy, 
What makest thou here? w T hat 

means this toy ? 
Denzil and thou, I marked, were 

ta'en ; 180 

What lucky chance unbound your 

chain ? 
I deemed, long since on BalioPs 

tower, 
Your heads were warped with sun 

and shower. 
Tell me the whole — and mark! 

naught e'er 



CANTO SIXTH 



371 



Chafes me like falsehood or like 

fear.' 
Gathering his courage to his aid 
But trembling still, the youth 

obeyed. 

VII 

'Denzil and I two nights passed 

o'er 
In fetters on the dungeon floor. 
A guest the third sad morrow 

brought ; 190 

Our hold, dark Oswald Wye I iff e 

sought, 
And eyed my comrade long 

askance 
With fixed and penetrating glance. 
"Guy Denzil art thou called?" — 

" The same." 
" At Court who served wild Buck- 
ingham e ; 
Thence banished, won a keeper's 

place, 
So Villiers willed, in Marwood- 

chase ; 
That lost— I need not tell thee 

why — 
Thou madest thy wit thy wants 

supply, 
Then fought for Rokeby: — have 

I guessed 200 

My prisoner right ? " — " At thy 

behest." — 
He paused awhile, and then went 

on 
With low and confidential tone ; — 
Me, as I judge, not then he saw 
Close nestled in my couch of 

straw. — 
" List to me, Guy. Thou know'st 

the great 
Have frequent need of what they 

hate ; 
Hence, in their favor oft we see 
Unscrupled, useful men like thee. 
Were I disposed to bid thee live, 
What pledge of faith hast thou to 



give? 



VIII 



1 The ready fiend who never yet 
Hath failed to sharpen Denzil's wit 



Prompted his lie — " His only child 
Should rest his pledge." — The 

baron smiled, 
And turned to me — " Thou art 

his son?" 
I bowed — our fetters were un- 
done, 
And we were led to hear apart 
A dreadful lesson of his art. 
Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son, 
Had fair Matilda's favor won; 221 
And long since had their union 

been 
But for her father's bigot spleen, 
Whose brute and blindfold party- 

rage 
Would, force perforce, her hand 

engage 
To a base kern of Irish earth, 
Unknown his lineage and his birth, 
Save that a dying ruffian bore 
The infant brat to Rokeby door. 
Gentle restraint, he said, would 

lead 230 

Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 
But fair occasion be must find 
For such restraint well meant and 

kind, 
The knight being rendered to his 

charge 
But as a prisoner at large. 

IX 

' He schooled us in a well-forged 

tale 
Of scheme the castle walls to 

scale, 
To which was leagued each Cava- 
lier 
That dwells upon the Tyne and 
Wear, 239 

That Rokeby, his parole forgot, 
Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 
Such was the charge which Den- 
zil's zeal 
Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 
Proffered as witness to make good, 
Even though the forfeit were their 

blood. 
I scrupled until o'er and o'er 
His prisoners' safety Wycliffe 
swore ; 



372 



ROKEBY 



And then — alas ! what needs there 

more ? 
I knew I should not live to say 
The proffer I refused that day ; 250 
Ashamed to live, yet loath to die, 
I soiled me with their infamy ! ' 
1 Poor youth ! ' said Bertram, wa- 
vering still, 
Unfit alike for good or ill ! 
But what fell next ? ' — ' Soon as 

at large 
Was scrolled and signed our fatal 

charge, 
There never yet on tragic stage 
Was seen so well a painted rage 
As Oswald's showed ! With loud 

alarm 
He called his garrison to arm ; 260 
From tower to tower, from post to 

post, 
He hurried as if all were lost ; 
Consigned to dungeon and to chain 
The good old knight and all his 

train ; 
Warned each suspected Cavalier 
Within his limits to appear 
To-morrow at the hour of noon 
In the high church of Eglistone.' — 

x 

1 Of Eglistone ! — Even now I 

passed,' 
Said Bertram, ' as the night closed 

fast ; 270 

Torches and cressets gleamed 

around, 
I heard the saw and hammer 

sound, 
And I could mark they toiled to 

raise 
A scaffold, hung with sable baize, 
Which the grim headsman's scene 

displayed, 
Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid. 
Some evil deed will there be done 
Unless Matilda wed his son ; — 
She loves him not — 't is shrewdly 

guessed 
That Redmond rules the damsel's 

breast. 280 

This is a turn of Oswald's skill ; 



But I may meet, and foil him 
still ! — 

How earnest thou to thy free- 
dom ? ' — ' There 

Lies mystery more dark and rare. 

In midst of Wycliffe's well-feigned 
rage, 

A scroll was offered by a page, 

Who told a muffled horseman late 

Had left it at the Castle-gate. 

He broke the seal — his cheek 
showed change, 

Sudden, portentous, wild, and 
strange ; 290 

The mimic passion of his eye 

Was turned to actual agony ; 

His hand like summer sapling 
shook, 

Terror and guilt w 7 ere in his look. 

Denzil he judged in time of need 

Fit counsellor for evil deed ; 

And thus apart his counsel broke, 

While with a ghastly smile he 
spoke : 

XI 

' " As in the pageants of the stage 
The dead awake in this wild age, 
Mortham — whom all men deemed 

decreed 301 

In his own deadly snare to bleed, 
Slain by a bravo whom o'er sea 
He trained to aid in murdering 

me,— 
Mortham has 'scaped! The cow- 
ard shot 
The steed but harmed the rider 

not.'" 
Here with an execration fell 
Bertram leaped up and paced the 

cell: — 
' Thine own gray head or bosom 

dark,' 
He muttered, ' may be surer 

mark!' 310 

Then sat and signed to Edmund, 

pale 
With terror, to resume his tale. 
' Wycliffe went on : — " Mark with 

what flights 
Of wildered reverie he writes : — 



CANTO SIXTH 



373 



THE LETTER 

* " Ruler of Mortham's destiny ! 
Though dead, thy victim lives to 

thee. 
Once had he all that binds to life, 
A lovely child, a lovelier wife ; 
Wealth, fame, and friendship were 

his own — 
Thou gavest the word and they 

are flown. 320 

Mark how he pays thee : to thy 

hand 
He yields his honors and his land, 
One boon premised; — restore his 

child ! 
And, from his native land exiled, 
Mortham no more returns to claim 
His lands, his honors, or his name ; 
Refuse him this and from the slain 
Thou shalt see Mortham rise 

again." — 

XII 

* This billet while the baron read, 
His faltering accents showed his 

dread ; 330 

He pressed his forehead with his 

palm, 
Then took a scornful tone and 

calm ; 
" Wild as the winds, as billows 

wild! 
What wot I of his spouse or child ? 
Hither he brought a joyous dame, 
Unknown her lineage or her name : 
Her in some frantic fit he slew ; 
The nurse and child in fear with 

drew. 
Heaven be my witness, wist I 

where 
To find this youth, my kinsman's 

heir, 340 

Unguerdoned I would give with 

joy 
The father's arms to fold his boy, 
And Mortham's lands and towers 

resign 
To the just heirs of Mortham's 

line." 
Thou know' st that scarcely e'en 

his fear 



Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; — 
" Then happy is thy vassal's part," 
He said, "to ease his patron's 

heart ! 
In thine own jailer's watchful care 
Lies Mortham's just and rightful 

heir; 350 

Thy generous wish is fully won,— 
Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's 

son." — 

XIII 

' Up starting with a frenzied look, 
His clenched hand the baron 

shook : 
" Is Hell at work ? or dost thou 

rave, 
Or darest thou palter with me, 

slave ! 
Perchance thou wot'st not, Bar- 
nard's towers 
Have racks of strange and ghastly 

powers." 
Denzil, who well his safety knew, 
Firmly rejoined, " I tell thee true. 
Thy racks could give thee but to 

know 361 

The proofs which I, untortured, 

show. 
It chanced upon a winter night 
When early snow made Stanmore 

white, 
That very night when first of all 
Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby- 

hall, 
It was my goodly lot to gain 
A reliquary and a chain, 
Twisted and chased of massive 

gold. 369 

Demand not how the prize I hold ! 
It was not given nor lent nor sold. 
Gilt tablets to the chain were hung 
With letters in the Irish tongue. 
I hid my spoil, for there was need 
That I should leave the land with 

speed, 
Nor then I deemed it safe to bear 
On mine own person gems so rare. 
Small heed I of the tablets took, 
But since have spelled them by 

the book 379 



374 



ROKEBY 



When some sojourn in Erin's land 
Of their wild speech had given 

command. 
But darkling was the sense ; the 

phrase 
And language those of other days, 
Involved of purpose, as to foil 
An interloper's prying toil. 
The words but not the sense I 

knew, 
Till fortune gave the guiding clue. 

XIV 

4 " Three days since, was that clue 

revealed 
In Thorsgill as I lay concealed, 
And heard at full when Rokeby's 

maid 390 

Her uncle's history displayed ; 
And now I can interpret well 
Each syllable the tablets tell. 
Mark, then: fair Edith was the 

joy 
Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy ; 
But from her sire and country 

fled 
In secret Mortham's lord to wed. 
O'Neale, his first resentment o'er, 
Despatched his son to Greta's 

shore, 
Enjoining he should make him 

known— 400 

Until his farther will were shown — 
To Edith, but to her alone. 
What of their ill-starred meeting 

fell 
Lord Wycliffe knows, and none so 

well. 

xv 

1 u O'Neale it was who in despair 

Eobbed Mortham of his infant 
heir; 

He bred him in their nurture wild, 

And called him murdered Connel's 
child. 

Soon died the nurse ; the clan be- 
lieved 

What from their chieftain they re- 
ceived. 4 IQ 

His purpose was that ne'er again 



The boy should cross the Irish 

main, 
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy 
The woods and wastes of Clande- 
boy. 
Then on the land wild troubles 

came, 
And stronger chieftains urged a 

claim, 
And wrested from the old man's 

hands 
His native towers, his father's 

lands. 
Unable then amid the strife 
To guard young Redmond's rights 

or life, 420 

Late and reluctant he restores 
The infant to his native shores, 
With goodly gifts and letters 

stored, 
With many a deep conjuring word, 
To Mortham and to Rokeby's lord. 
Naught knew the clod of Irish 

earth, 
Who was the guide, of Redmond's 

birth, 
But deemed his chief's commands 

were laid 
On both, by both to be obeyed. 429 
How he was wounded by the way 
I need not, and I list not say." — 

XVI 

' " A wondrous tale ! and, grant it 

true, 
What," Wycliffe answered, "might 

I do? 
Heaven knows, as willingly as 

now 
I raise the bonnet from my brow, 
Would I my kinsman's manors 

fair 
Restore to Mortham or his heir ; 
But Mortham is distraught — 

O'Neale 
Has drawn for tyranny his steel, 
Malignant to our rightful cause 
And trained in Rome's delusive 

laws. 44 1 

Hark thee apart ! " They whis- 
pered long, 



CANTO SIXTH 



375 



Till Denzil's voice grew bold and 

strong : 
" My proofs ! I never will," he said, 
"Show mortal man wheje they 

are laid. 
Nor hope discovery to foreclose 
By giving me to feed the crows ; 
For I have mates at large who 

know 
Where I am wont such toys to 

stow. 
Free me from peril and from 

band, 45° 

These tablets are at thy com- 
mand ; 
Nor were it hard to form some 

train, 
To wile old Mortham o'er the 

main. 
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
Should wrest from thine the good- 

ly land." 
"I like thy wit," said Wycliffe, 

"well; 
But here in hostage shalt thou 

dwell. 
Thy son, unless my purpose err, 
May prove the trustier messenger. 
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
From me, and fetch these tokens 

rare. 461 

Gold shalt thou have, and that 

good store, 
And freedom, his commission o'er ; 
But if his faith should chance to 

fail, 
The gibbet frees thee from the 

jail." 

xvn 

'Meshed in the net himself had 

twined, 
What subterfuge could Denzil 

find? 
He told me with reluctant sigh 
That hidden here the tokens lie, 
Conjured my swift return and aid, 
By all he scoffed and disobeyed, 471 
And looked as if the noose were 

tied 
And I the priest who left his side. 



This scroll for Mortham Wycliffe 

gave, 
Whom I must seek by Greta's 

wave, 
Or in the hut where chief he hides, 
Where Thorsgill's forester re- 
sides. — 
Thence chanced it, wandering in 

the glade, 
That he descried our ambus- 
cade. — 479 
I was dismissed as evening fell, 
And reached but now this rocky 

cell.' 
' Give Oswald's letter.' — Bertram 

read, 
And tore it fiercely shred by 

shred : — 
' All lies and villany ! to blind 
His noble kinsman's generous 

mind, 
And train him on from day to day, 
Till he can take his life away. — 
And now, declare thy purpose, 

youth, 
Nor dare to answer, save the 

truth ; 
If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 490 
I '11 tear the secret from thy 
heart ! ' — 

XVIII 

4 It needs not. I renounce,' he 

said, 
' My tutor and his deadly trade. 
Fixed was my purpose to declare 
To Mortham, Redmond is his heir ; 
To tell him in what risk he stands, 
And yield these tokens to his 

hands. 
Fixed was my purpose to atone, 
Far as I may, the evil done ; 
And fixed it rests — if I survive 
This night, and leave this cave 

alive.'— 501 

4 And Denzil?' — ' Let them ply 

the rack, 
Even till his joints and sinews 

crack ! 
If Oswald tear him limb from 

limb, 



376 



ROKEBY 



What ruth can Denzil claim from 

him 
Whose thoughtless youth he led 

astray 
And damned to this unhallowed 

way? 
He schooled me, faith and vows 

were vain ; 
Now let my master reap his 

gain.' — 
1 True,' answered Bertram, 4 't is 

his meed; 510 

There 's retribution in the deed. 
But thou — thou art not for our 

course, 
Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse ; 
And he with us the gale who 

braves 
Must heave such cargo to the 

waves, 
Or lag with overloaded prore 
While barks unburdened reach 

the shore.' 

XIX 

He paused and, stretching him at 

length, 
Seemed to repose his bulky 

strength. 519 

Communing with his secret mind, 
As half he sat and half reclined, 
One ample hand his forehead 

pressed, 
And one was dropped across his 

breast. 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 
Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 
His lip of pride awhile forbore 
The haughty curve till then it 

wore; 
The unaltered fierceness of his 

look 
A shade of darkened sadness 

took, — 
For dark and sad a presage 

pressed 530 

Resistlessly on Bertram's breast,— 
And when he spoke, his wonted 

tone, 
So fierce, abrupt, and briejf, was 

gone. 



His voice was steady, low, and 

deep, 
Like distant waves when breezes 

sleep ; 
And so#row mixed with Edmund's 

fear, 
Its low unbroken depth to hear. 

xx 

' Edmund, in thy sad tale'I find 
The woe that warped my patron's 

mind; 
'T would wake the fountains of 

the eye 540 

In other men, but mine are dry. 
Mortham must never see the fool 
That sold himself base Wycliffe's 

tool, 
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain 
Than to avenge supposed disdain. 
Say Bertram rues his fault — a 

word 
Till now from Bertram never 

heard : 
Say, too, that Mortham's lord he 

prays 
To think but on their former days ; 
On Quariana's beach and rock, 550 
On Cayo's bursting battle-shock, 
On Darien's sands and deadly dew, 
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; — 
Perchance my patron yet may 

hear 
More that may grace his comrade's 

bier. 
My soul hath felt a secret weight, 
A warning of approaching fate : 
A priest had said, "Heturn, re- 
pent ! " 
As well to bid that rock be rent. 
Firm as that flint I face mine 

end ; 560 

My heart may burst but cannot 

bend. 

XXI 

• The dawning of my youth with 

awe 
And prophecy the Dalesmen saw ; 
For over Redesdale it came, 
As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 



CANTO SIXTH 



377 



Edmund, thy years were scarcely 

mine 
When, challenging the Clans of 

Tyne 
To bring their best my brand to 

prove. 
O'er Hexham's altar hung my 

glove ; 
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor 

town, 570 

Held champion meet to take it 

down. 
My noontide India may declare ; 
Like her fierce sun, I fired the air ! 
Like him, to wood and cave bade 

fly 

Her natives from mine angry eye. 
Panama's maids shall long look 

pale 
"When Risingham inspires the tale ; 
Chili's dark matrons long shall 

tame 
The froward child with Bertram's 

name. 
And now, my race of terror run, 580 
Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 
No pale gradations quench his 

ray, 
No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 
With disk like battle-target red 
He rushes to his burning bed, 
Dyes the wide wave with bloody 

light, 
Then sinks at once — and all is 

night. — 

XXII 

1 Now to thy mission, Edmund. 

Fly, 
Seek Mortham out, and bid him 

hie 
To Richmond where his troops are 

laid, 590 

And lead his force to Redmond's 

aid. 
Say till he reaches Eglistone 
A friend will watch to guard his 

son. 
Now, fare - thee • well ; for night 

draws on, 
And I would rest me here alone.' 



Despite his ill-dissembled fear, 
There swam in Edmund's eye a 

tear; 
A tribute to the courage high 
Which stooped not in extremity, 
But strove, irregularly great, 600 
To triumph o'er approaching fate ! 
Bertram beheld the dewdrop start, 
It almost touched his iron heart : 
'I did not think there lived,' he 

said, 
' One who would tear for Bertram 

shed.' 
He loosened then his baldric's 

hold, 
A buckle broad of massive gold ; — 
'Of all the spoil that paid his 

pains 
But this with Risingham remains ; 
And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt 

take, 610 

And wear it long for Bertram's 

sake. 
Once more — to Mortham speed 

amain; 
Farewell ! and turn thee not again.' 

XXIII 

The night has yielded to the morn, 
And far the hours of prime are 

worn. 
Oswald, who since the dawn of 

day 
Had cursed his messenger's de- 
lay, 
Impatient questioned now his 

train, 
; Was Denzil's son returned 

again?' 
It chanced there answered of the 

crew 620 

A menial whom young Edmund 

knew : 
1 No son of Denzil this,' he said ; 
'A peasant boy from Winston 

glade, 
For song and minstrelsy renowned 
And knavish pranks the hamlets 

round.' 
1 Not Denzil's son ! — from Win. 

ston vale 1 — 



378 



ROKEBY 



Then it was false, that specious 

tale; 
Or worse — he hath despatched 

the youth 
To show to Mortham's lord its 

truth. 
Fool that I was ! — but 't is too 

late ; — 630 

This is the very turn of fate ! — 
The tale, or true or false, relies 
On Denzil's evidence ! — He dies !— 
Ho ! Provost Marshal ! instantly 
Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree ! 
Allow him not a parting word ; 
Short be the shrift and sure the 

cord ! 
Then let his gory head appall 
Marauders from the castle-wall. 
Lead forth thy guard, that duty 

done, 640 

With best despatch to Egli- 

stone. -— 
Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight 
Attend me at the castle-gate.' 

XXIV 

1 Alas ! ' the old domestic said, 
And shook his venerable head, 
1 Alas, my lord ! full ill to-day 
May my young master brook the 

way! 
The leech has spoke with grave 

alarm 
Of unseen hurt, of secret harm, 
Of sorrow lurking at the heart, 650 
That mars and lets his healing 

art.' 
1 Tush ! tell not me ! — Komantic 

boys 
Pine themselves sick for airy toys, 
I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ; 
Bid him for Eglistone be boune, 
And quick ! — I hear the dull 

death-drum 
Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come. 5 
He paused with scornful smile, 

and then 
Resumed his train of thought agen. 
' Now comes my fortune's crisis 

near ! 660 

Entreaty boots not — instant fear, 



Naught else, can bend Matilda's 

pride 
Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 
But when she sees the scaffold 

placed, 
With axe and block and headsman 

graced, 
And when she deems that to deny 
Dooms Redmond and Tier sire to 

die, 
She must give way. — Then, were 

the line 
Of Rokeby once combined with 

mine, 
I gain the weather-gage of fate ! 
If Mortham come, he comes too 

late, 671 

While I, allied thus and prepared, 
Bid him defiance to his beard. — 
If she prove stubborn, shall I 

dare 
To drop the axe ? — Soft ! pause 

we there. 
Mortham still lives — yon youth 

may tell 
His tale — and Fairfax loves him 

well ; — 
Else, wherefore should I now de- 
lay 
To sweep this Redmond from my 

way?— 
But she to piety perforce 680 

Must yield. — Without there I 

Sound to horse ! ' 

XXV 

'T was bustle in the court below, — 
1 Mount, and march forward ! ' 

Forth they go ; 
Steeds neigh and trample all 

around, 
Steel rings, spears glimmer, trump- 
ets sound. — 
Just then was sung his parting 

hymn ; 
And Denzil turned his eyeballs 

dim, 
And, scarcely conscious what he 

sees, 
Follows the horsemen clown the 

Tees; 



CANTO SIXTH 



\79 



And scarcely conscious what be 

hears, 690 

The trumpets tingle in his ears. 
O'er the long bridge they're 

sweeping now, 
The van is hid by greenwood 

bough ; 
But ere the rearward had passed j 

o'er, 
Guy Denzil heard and saw no 

more ! 
One stroke upon the castle bell 
To Oswald rung his dying knell. 

XXVI 

O, for that pencil, erst profuse 
Of chivalry's emblazoned hues, 
That traced of old in Woodstock 
bower 700 

The pageant of the Leaf and 

Flower, 
And bodied forth the tourney high 
Held for the hand of Emily ! 
Then might I paint the tumult 

broad 
That to the crowded abbey flowed, 
And poured, as with an ocean's 

sound, 
Into the church's ample bound ! 
Then might I show each varying 

mien, 
Exulting, woful, or serene ; 709 
Indifference, with his idiot stare, 
And Sympathy, with anxious air ; 
Paint the dejected Cavalier, 
Doubtful, disarmed, and sad of 

cheer ; 
And his proud foe, whose formal 

eye 
Claimed conquest now and mas- 
tery; 
And the brute crowd, whose envi- 
ous zeal 
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's 

wheel, 
And loudest shouts when lowest 

lie 
Exalted worth and station high. 719 
Yet what may such a wish avail ? 
'Tis mine to tell an onward tale, 
Hurrying, as best I can, along 



The hearers and the hasty song ; — 

Like traveller when approaching 
home, 

Who sees the shades of evening 
come, 

And must not now his course de- 
lay, 

Or choose the fair but winding 
way; 

Nay, scarcely may his pace sus- 
pend, 

Where o'er his head the wildings 
bend, 

To bless the breeze that cools his 
brow 730 

Or snatch a blossom from the 
bough. 

XXYII 

The reverend pile lay wild and 

waste, 
Profaned, dishonored, and defaced. 
Through storied lattices no more 
In softened light the sunbeams 

pour, 
Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 
Of shrine and monument and 

niche. 
The civil fury of the time 
Made sport of sacrilegious crime ; 
For dark fanaticism rent 740 

Altar and screen and ornament, 
And peasant hands the tombs o'er- 

threw 
Of Bowes, of Ptokeby, and Fitz- 

Hugh, 
And now was seen, unwonted 

sight, 
In holy walls a scaffold dight ! 
Where once the priest of grace di- 
vine 
Dealt to his flock the mystic sign. 
There stood the block displayed, 

and there 
The headsman grim his hatchet 

bare, 
And for the word of hope and 

faith 750 

Resounded loud a doom of death. 
Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath 

was heard, 



3 8o 



ROKEBY 



And echoed thrice the herald's 

word, 
Dooming, for breach of martial 

laws 
And treason to the Commons' 

cause, 
The Knight of Rokeby, and 

O'Neale, 
To stoop their heads to block and 

steel. 
The trumpets flourished high and 

shrill, 
Then was a silence dead and still ; 
And silent prayers to Heaven 

were cast, 760 

And stifled sobs were burstingfast, 
Till from the crowd begun to rise 
Murmurs of sorrow or surprise, 
And from the distant isles there 

came 
Deep-muttered threats with Wy. 

cliffe's name. 

XXVIII 

But Oswald, guarded by his band, 
Powerful in evil, waved his hand, 
And bade sedition's voice be dead, 
On peril of the murmurer's head. 
Then first his glance sought Roke- 

by's Knight, 770 

Who gazed on the tremendous 

sight 
As calm as if he came a guest 
To kindred baron's feudal feast, 
As calm as if that trumpet-call 
Were summons to the bannered 

hall; 
Firm in his loyalty he stood, 
And prompt to seal it with his 

blood. 
With downcast look drew Oswald 

nigh, — 
He durst not cope with Rokeby's 

eye! — 
And said with low and faltering 

breath, 780 

* Thou know'st the terms of life 

and death.' 
The knight then turned and sternly 

smiled i 
' The maiden is mine only child, 



Yet shall my blessing leave her 

head 
If with a traitor's son she wed.' 
Then Redmond spoke : ' The life 

of one 
Might thy malignity atone, 
On me be flung a double guilt ! 
Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be 

spilt ! ' • 
Wycliffe had listened to his 

suit, 790 

But dread prevailed and he was 

mute. 

XXIX 

And now he pours his choice of 
fear 

In secret on Matilda's ear ; 

4 An union formed with me and 
mine 

Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 

Consent, and all this dread array 

Like morning dream shall pass 
away; 

Refuse, and by my duty pressed 

I give the word — thou know'st 
the rest.' 

Matilda, still and motionless, 800 

With terror heard the dread ad- 
dress, 

Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 

To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 

Then wrung her hands in agony, 

And round her cast bewildered 
eye, 

Now on the scaffold glanced, and 
now 

On Wyciiffe's unrelenting brow. 

She veiled her face, and with a 
voice 

Scarce audible, ' I make my choice ! 

Spare but their lives ! — for aught 
beside 810 

Let Wilfrid's doom my fate de- 
cide. 

He once was generous ! ' As she 
spoke, 

Dark Wyciiffe's joy in triumph 
broke : 

* Wilfrid, where loitered ye so late? 

Why upon Basil rest thy weight? — 



CANTO SIXTH 



i8 1 



Art spell-bound by enchanter's 

wand ? — 
Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded 

hand ; 
Thank her with raptures, simple 

boy ! 
Should tears and trembling speak 

thy joy ? ' 
1 hush, my sire ! To prayer and 

tear 820 

Of mine thou hast refused thine 

ear ; 
But now the awful hour draws 

on 
When truth must speak in loftier 

tone.' 

XXX 

He took Matilda's hand: 'Dear 

maid, 
Couldst thou so injure me,' he said, 
' Of thy poor friend so basely deem 
As blend with him this barbarous 

scheme ? 
Alas ! my efforts made in vain 
Might well have saved this added 

pain. 
But now, bear witness earth and 

heaven 830 

That ne'er was hope to mortal 

given 
So twisted with the strings of life 
As this — to call Matilda wife ! 
I bid it now forever part, 
And with the effort bursts my 

heart.' 
His feeble frame was worn so 

low, 
With wounds, w T ith watching, and 

with woe 
That nature could no more sus- 
tain 
The agony of mental pain. 
He kneeled— his lip her hand had 

pressed, 840 

Just then he felt the stern arrest. 
Lower and lower sunk his head,— 
They raised him, — but the life w r as 

fled! 
Then first alarmed his sire and 

train 



Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 
The soul, too soft its ills to bear, 
Had left our mortal hemisphere, 
And sought in better world the 

meed 
To blameless life by Heaven de- 
creed. 849 

XXXI 

The wretched sire beheld aghast 
With Wilfrid all his projects past, 
All turned and centred on his 

son, 
On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 
' And I am childless now r ,' he said ; 
1 Childless, through that relentless 

maid! 
A lifetime's arts in vain essayed 
Are bursting on their artist's head ! 
Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and 

there 
Comes hated Mortham for his heir, 
Eager to knit in happy band 860 
With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's 

hand. 
And shall their triumph soar o'er 

all 
The schemes deep-laid to work 

their fall? 
No ! — deeds w T hich prudence might 

not dare 
Appall not vengeance and despair. 
The murderess weeps upon his 

bier — 
I'll change to real that feigned 

tear! 
They all shall share destruction's 

shock ; — 
Ho ! lead the captives to the block ! ' 
But ill his provost could divine 870 
His feelings, and forbore the sign. 
' Slave ! to the block ! — or I or 

they 
Shall face the judgment-seat this 

day!' 

XXXII 

The outmost crowd have heard a 

sound 
Like horse's hoof on hardened 

ground ; 



382 



ROKEBY 



Nearer it came, and yet more 

near, — 
The very death's-men paused to 

hear. 
'T is in the churchyard now — the 

tread 
Hath waked the dwelling of the 

dead ! 879 

Fresh sod and old sepulchral stone 
Return the tramp in varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung, 
When through the Gothic arch 

there sprung 
A horseman armed at headlong 

speed — 
Sable his cloak, his plume, his 

steed. 
Fire from the flinty floor was 

spurned, 
The vaults unwonted clang re- 
turned ! — 
One instant's glance around he 

threw, 
From saddlebow his pistol drew. 
Grimly determined was his look ! 
His charger with the spurs he 

strook— 891 

All scattered backward as he 

came, 
For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
Three bounds that noble courser 

gave; 
The first has reached the central 

nave, 
The second cleared the chancel 

wide, 
The third — he was at Wycliffe's 

side. 
Full levelled at the baron's head, 
Rung the report — the bullet 

sped — 899 

And to his long account and last 
Without a groan dark Oswald past ! 
All was so quick that it might 

seem 
A flash of lightning or a dream. 

XXXIII 

While yet the smoke the deed 

conceals, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 



But floundered on the pavement- 
floor 
The steed and down the rider 

bore, 
And, bursting in the headlong 

sway, 
The faithless saddle-girths gave 

way. 
'T was while he toiled him to be 

freed, 910 

And with the rein to raise the 

steed, 
That from amazement's iron trance 
All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at 

once. 
Sword, halberd, musket-butt, their 

blows 
Hailed upon Bertram as he rose ; 
A score of pikes with each a wound 
Bore down and pinned him to the 

ground ; 
But still his struggling force he 

rears, 
' Gainst hacking brands and stab. 

bing spears, 
Thrice from assailants shook him 

free, 920 

Once gained his feet and twice his 

knee. 
By tenfold odds oppressed at 

length, 
Despite his struggles and his 

strength, 
He took a hundred mortal wounds 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling 

hounds; 
And when he died his parting 

groan 
Had more of laughter than of 

moan! 
They gazed as when a lion dies, 
And hunters scarcely trust their 

eyes, 
But bend their weapons on the 

slain 930 

Lest the grim king should rouse 

again ! 
Then blow and insult some re- 
newed, 
And from the trunk the head had 

hewed, 



CANTO SIXTH 



383 



But Basil's voice the deed forbade ; 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 
' Fell as he was in act and mind, 
He left no bolder heart behind : 
Then give him, for a soldier meet 
A soldier's cloak for winding 
sheet.' 

xxxiv 
No more of death and dying 

pang, 940 

No more of trump and bugle clang, 
Though through the sounding 

woods there come 
Banner and bugle, trump and 

drum. 
Armed with such powers as well 

had freed 
Young Redmond at his utmost 

need, 
And backed with such a band of 

horse 
As might less ample powers en- 
force, 
Possessed of every proof and sign 
That gave an heir to Mortbam's 

line, 949 

And yielded to a father's arms 
An image of his Edith's charms, — 
Mortham is come, to hear and see 
Of this strange morn the history. 
^SYhat saw he? — not the church's 

floor, 
Cumbered with dead and stained 

with gore ; 
What heard he? — not the clamor- 
ous crowd. 
That shout their gratulations 

loud : 
Redmond he saw and heard alone, 
Clasped him and sobbed, ' My son ! 

my son ! ' 



XXXV 

This chanced upon a summer 

morn, 96° 

When yellow waved the heavy 

corn: 
But when brown August o'er the 

land 
Called forth the reaper's busy 

band, 
A gladsome sight the sylvan road 
From Eglistone to Mortham 

showed, 
Awhile the hardy rustic leaves 
The task to bind and pile the 

sheaves, 
And maids their sickles fling aside 
To gaze on bridegroom and on 

bride. 
And childhood's wondering group 

draws near, 970 

And from the gleaner's hands the 

ear 
Drops while she folds them for a 

prayer 
And blessing on the lovely pair. 
'Twas then the Maid of Rokeby 

gave 
Her plighted troth to Redmond 

brave ; 
And Teesdale can remember yet 
How Fate to Virtue paid her 

debt. 
And for their troubles bade them 

prove 
A lengthened life of peace and 

love. 

Time and Tide had thus their 
sway. 9S0 

Yielding, like an April day, 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow, 
Years of joy for hours of sorrow ! 



I 



3§4 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 

OR 
THE VALE OF SAINT JOHN 

A LOVER'S TALE 



INTRODUCTION 



Come, Lucy ! while 't is morning 
hour 
The woodland brook we needs 
must pass ; 
So ere the sun assume his power 
We shelter in our poplar bower, 
Where dew lies long upon the 
flower, 
Though vanished from the velvet 
grass. 
Curbing the stream, this stony 

ridge 
May serve us for a sylvan bridge ; 
For here compelled to disunite, 
Round petty isles the runnels 
glide, 10 

And chafing off their puny spite, 
The shallow murmurers waste 
their might, 
Yielding to footstep free and 
light 
A dry-shod pass from side to 
side. 

ii 

Nay, why this hesitating pause?— 
And, Lucy, as thy step withdraws, 
Why sidelong eye the streamlet's 
brim? 
Titania's foot without a slip, 
Like thine, though timid, light, 
and slim, 
From stone to stone might safely 
trip, 20 

Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to 
dip 
That binds her slipper's silken rim. 



Or trust thy lover's strength ; nor 

fear 
That this same stalwart arm of 

mine, 
Which could yon oak's prone 

trunk uprear, 
Shall shrink beneath the burden 

dear 
Of form so slender, light, and 

fine.— 
So — now, the danger dared at 

last, 
Look back and smile at perils past ! 

in 

And now we reach the favorite 
glade, 30 

Paled in by copsewood, cliff, and 
stone, 
Where never harsher sounds in- 
vade 
To break affection's whispering 
tone 
Than the deep breeze that waves 
the shade, 
Than the small brooklet's feeble 
moan. 
Come! rest thee on thy wonted 
seat ; 
Mossed is the stone, the turf is 
green, 
A place where lovers best may 
meet 
Who would not that their love 
be seen. 
The boughs that dim the summer 
sky 40 

Shall hide us from each lurking spy 
That fain would spread the in- 
vidious tale, 



INTRODUCTION 



385 



How Lucy of the lofty eye, 


Too oft when through the splen- 


Noble in birth, in fortunes high, 


did hall, 70 


She for whom lords and barons 


The loadstar of each heart and 


sigh, 


eye, 


Meets her poor Arthur in the 


My fair one leads the glittering 


dale. 


ball, 




Will her stolen glance on Ar- 


IV 


thur fall 


How deep that blush ! — how deep 


With such a blush and such a 


that sigh ! 


sigh! 


And why does Lucy shun mine 


Thou wouldst not yield for 


eye? 


wealth or rank 


Is it because that crimson draws 


The heart thy worth and 


Its color from some secret 


beauty won, 


cause, 50 


Nor leave me on this mossy 


Some hidden movement of the 


bank 


breast, 


To meet a rival on a throne : 


She would not that her Arthur 


Why then should vain repfnings 


guessed? 


rise, 


0, quicker far is lovers' ken 


That to thy lover fate denies 80 


Than the dull glance of common 


A nobler name, a wide domain, 


men, 


A baron's birth, a menial train, 


And by strange sympathy can 


Since Heaven assigned him for 


spell 


his part 


The thoughts the loved one will 


A lyre, a falchion, and a heart ? 


not tell ! 




And mine in Lucy's blush saw met 


VI 


The hue of pleasure and regret ; 


My sword — its master must be 


Pride mingled in the sigh her 


dumb; 


voice, 


But when a soldier names my 


And shared with Love the 


name, 


crimson glow, 60 


Approach, my Lucy! fearless 


Well pleased that thou art Ar- 


come, 


thur's choice, 


Nor dread to hear of Arthur's 


Yet shamed thine own is 


shame. 


placed so low : 


My heart — mid all yon courtly 


Thou turn' st thy self -confessing 


crew 


cheek, 


Of lordly rank and lofty line, 90 


As if to meet the breezes cool- 


Is there to love and honor true, 


ing; 


That boasts a pulse so warm 


Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor 


as mine ? 


speak, 


They praised thy diamonds' lustre 


For Love too has his hours of 


rare — 


schooling. 


Matched with thine eyes, I 




thought it faded ; 


V 


They praised the pearls that bound 


Too oft my anxious eye has spied 


thy hair — 


That secret grief thou fain 


I only saw the locks they 


wouldst hide, 


braided ; 


The passing pang of humbled 


They talked of wealthy dower and 


pride ; 


land, 



386 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



And titles of high birth the 
token — 
I thought of Lucy's heart and 
hand, 
Nor knew the sense of what was 
spoken. ioo 

And yet, if ranked in Fortune's 
roll, 
I might have learned their choice 
unwise 
Who rate the dower above the 
soul 
And Lucy's diamonds o'er her 
eyes. 

VII 

My lyre — it is an idle toy 
That borrows accents not its 
own, 

Like warbler of Colombian sky 
That sings but in a mimic tone. 

Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted 
well, 

Nor boasts it aught of Border 
spell; no 

Its strings no feudal slogan pour, 

Its heroes draw no broad clay- 
more ; 

No shouting clans applauses raise 

Because it sung their fathers' 
praise ; 

On Scottish moor, or English down, 

It ne'er was graced with fair re- 
nown; 

Nor won — best meed to minstrel 
true — 

One favoring smile from fair Buc- 
cleuch! 

By one poor streamlet sounds its 
tone, 

And heard by one dear maid 
alone. 120 

VIII 

But, if thou bid'st, these tones 

shall tell 
Of errant knight, and damoselle ; 
Of the dread knot a wizard tied 
In punishment of maiden's pride, 
In notes of marvel and of fear 
That best may charm romantic 

ear. 



For Lucy loves — like Collins, 

ill-starred name ! 
Whose lay's requital was that 

tardy Fame, 
Who bound no laurel round his 

living head, 
Should hang it o'er his monument 
• when dead, — 130 

For Lucy loves to tread enchanted 

strand, 
And thread like him the maze of 

Fairy-land ; 
Of golden battlements to view the 

gleam, 
And slumber soft by some Elysian 

stream ; 
Such lays she loves — and, such 

my Lucy's choice, 
What other song can claim her 

Poet's voice ? 



CANTO FIRST 



Wheee is the maiden of mortal 

strain 
That may match with the Baron 

of Triermain ? 
She must be lovely and constant 

and kind, 
Holy and pure and humble of 

mind, , 

Blithe of cheer and gentle of mood, 
Courteous and generous and noble 

of blood — 
Lovely as the sun's first ray 
When it breaks the clouds of an 

April day ; 
Constant and true as the widowed 

dove, 
Kind as a minstrel that sings of 

love ; 10 

Pure as the fountain in rocky cave 
Where never sunbeam kissed the 

wave ; 
Humble as maiden that loves in 

vain, 
Holy as hermit's vesper strain ; 
Gentle as breeze that but whispers 

and dies, 



CANTO FIRST 



387 



Yet blithe as the light leaves that 

dance in its sighs ; 
Courteous as monarch the morn he 

is crowned, 
Generous as spring - dews that 

bless the glad ground ; 
Noble her blood as the currents 

that met 
In the veins of the noblest Planta- 

genet — 20 

Such must her form be, her mood, 

and her strain, 
That shall match with Sir Roland 

of Triermain. 

11 

Sir Roland de Vaux he hath laid 

him to sleep, 
His blood it was fevered, his 

breathing was deep. 
He had been pricking against the 

Scot, 
The foray was long and the skir- 
mish hot ; 
His dinted helm and his buckler's 

plight 
Bore token of a stubborn fight. 
All in the castle must hold them 

still, 29 

Harpers must lull him to his rest 
With the slow soft tunes he loves 

the best 
Till sleep sink down upon his 

breast, 
Like the dew on a summer hill. 

in 

It was the dawn of an autumn 
day; 

The sun was struggling with frost- 
fog gray 

That like a silvery crape was 
spread 

Round Skiddaw's dim and distant 
head, 

And faintly gleamed each painted 
pane 

Of the lordly halls of Triermain, 
When that baron bold awoke. 40 

Starting he woke and loudly did 
call, 



Rousing his menials in bower and 
hall 
While hastily he spoke. 

IV 

' Hearken, my minstrels ! Which 
of ye all 

Touched his harp with that dying 
fall, 
So sweet, so soft, so faint, 

It seemed an angel's whispered 
call 
To an expiring saint? 

And hearken, my merry-men! 
What time or where 
Did she pass, that maid with her 
heavenly brow, 50 

With her look so sweet and her 
eyes so fair, 

And her graceful step and her an- 
gel air, 

And the eagle plume in her dark- 
brown hair, 
That passed from my bower e'en 
now!' 



Answered him Richard de Bret- 

ville ; he 
Was chief of the baron's min- 
strelsy, — 
4 Silent, noble chieftain, we 

Have sat since midnight close, 
When such lulling sounds as the 

brooklet sings 
Murmured from our melting 
strings, 60 

And hushed you to repose. 
Had a harp-note sounded here, 
It had caught my watchful ear, 
Although it fell as faint and shy 
As bashful maiden's half-formed 
sigh 
When she thinks her lover near.' 
Answered Philip of Fasthwaite 

tall; 

He kept guard in the outer-hall,— 

1 Since at eve our watch took post, 

Not a foot has thy portal crossed ; 

Else had I heard the steps, 

though low 71 



3«8 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



And light they fell as when earth 

receives 
In morn of frost the withered 

leaves 
That drop when no winds blow.' 

VI 

*Then come thou hither, Henry, 

my page, 
Whom I saved from the sack of 

Hermitage, 
When that dark castle, tower, and 

spire, 
Hose to the skies a pile of fire, 
And reddened all the Nine-stane 

Hill, 
And the shrieks of death, that 

wildly broke 80 

Through devouring flame and 

smothering smoke, 
Made the warrior's heart-blood 

chill. 
The trustiest thou of all my train, 
My fleetest courser thou must 

rein, 
And ride to Lyulph's tower, 
And from the Baron of Triermain 

Greet well that sage of power. 
He is sprung from Druid sires 
And British bards that tuned their 

lyres 
To Arthur's and Pendragon's 

praise, 90 

And his who sleeps at Dunmail- 

raise. 
Gifted like his gifted race, 
He the characters can trace 
Graven deep in elder time 
Upon Hellvellyn's cliffs sublime; 
Sign and sigil well doth he know, 
And can bode of weal and woe, 
Of kingdoms' fall and fate of wars, 
From mystic dreams and course 

of stars. 
He shall tell if middle earth 100 
To that enchanting shape gave 

birth, 
Or if 't was but an airy thing 
Such as fantastic slumbers bring, 
Framed from the rainbow's vary- 
ing dyes 



Or fading tints of western skies. 
For, by the blessed rood I swear, 
If that fair form breathe vital 

air, 
No other maiden by my side 
Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride ! ' 

VII 

The faithful page he mounts his 

steed, no 

And soon he crossed green Irth- 

ing's mead, 
Dashed o'er Kirkoswald's verdant 

plain, 
And Eden barred his course in 

vain. 
He passed red Penrith's Table 

Kound, 
For feats of chivalry renowned, 
Left Mayburgh's mound and 

stones of power, 
By Druids raised in magic hour, 
And traced the Eamont's winding 

way n8 

Till Ulfo's lake beneath him lay. 

VIII 

Onward he rode, the pathway still 
Winding betwixt the lake and hill ; 
Till, on the fragment of a rock 
Struck from its base by lightning 
shock, 
He saw the hoary sage : 
The silver moss and lichen twined, 
With fern and deer-hair checked 
and lined, 
A cushion fit for age ; 
And o'er him shook the aspen-tree, 
A restless rustling canopy. 
Then sprung young Henry from 
his selle 130 

And greeted Lyulph grave, 
And then his master's tale did 
tell, 
And then for counsel crave. 
The man of years mused long and 

deep, 
Of time's lost treasures taking 

keep, 
And then, as rousing from a sleep, 
His solemn answer gave. 



CANTO FIRST 



389 



IX 

1 That maid is born of middle earth 

And may of man be won, 
Though there have glided since 

her birth 140 

Five hundred years and one. 
But where 's the knight in all the 

north, 
That dare the adventure follow 

forth, 
So perilous to knightly worth, 
In the valley of Saint John ? 
Listen, youth, to what I tell, 
And bind it on thy memory well ; 
Nor muse that I commence the 

rhyme 
Far distant mid the wrecks of 

time. 
The mystic tale by bard and sage 
Is handed down from Merlin's 

age. 151 



LYULPH'S TALE 

'King Arthur has ridden from 

merry Carlisle 
When Pentecost was o'er : 
He journeyed like errant-knight 

the while, 
And sweetly the summer sun did 

smile 
On mountain, moss, and moor. 
Above his solitary track 
Rose Glaramara's ridgy back, 
Amid whose yawning gulfs the sun 
Cast umbered radiance red and 

dun, 160 

Though never sunbeam could dis- 
cern 
The surface of that sable tarn, 
In whose black mirror you may 

spy 
The stars while noontide lights 

the sky. 
The gallant king he skirted still 
The margin of that mighty hill ; 
Rock upon rocks incumbent hung, 
And torrents, down the gullies 

flung, 
Joined the rude river that brawled 

on, 



Recoiling now from crag and 

stone, 170 

Now diving deep from human 

ken, 
And raving down its darksome 

glen. 
The monarch judged this desert 

wild, 
With such romantic ruin piled, 
Was theatre by Nature's hand 
For feat of high achievement 

planned. 

XI 

1 0, rather he chose, that monarch 
bold, 
On venturous quest to ride 
In plate and mail by wood and 

wold 
Than, with ermine trapped and 
cloth of gold, 180 

In princely bower to bide ; 
The bursting crash of a foeman's 
spear, 
As it shivered against his mail, 
Was merrier music to his ear 

Than courtier's whispered tale : 
And the clash of Caliburn more 

dear, 
When on the hostile casque it 
rung, 
Than all the lays 
To the monarch's praise 
That the harpers of Reged sung. 
He loved better to rest by wood or 
river 191 

Than in bower of his bride, Dame 

Guenever, 
For he left that lady so lovely of 

cheer 
To follow adventures of danger 

and fear ; 
And the frank-hearted monarch 

full little did wot 
That she smiled in his absence on 
brave Lancelot. 

XII 

1 He rode till over down and dell 
The shade more broad and deeper 
fell; 



390 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



And though around the moun- 
tain's head 
Flowed streams of purple and gold 

and red, 200 

Dark at the base, unblest by 

beam t 
Frowned the black rocks and 

roared the stream. 
With toil the king his way pur- 
sued 
By lonely Threlkeld's waste and 

wood, 
Till on his course obliquely shone 
The narrow valley of Saint John, 
Down sloping to the western sky 
Where lingering sunbeams love to 

lie. 
Right glad to feel those beams 

again, 
The king drew up his charger's 

rein; 210 

With gauntlet raised he screened 

his sight, 
As dazzled with the level light, 
And from beneath his glove of 

mail 
Scanned at his ease the lovely 

vale, 
While 'gainst the sun his armor 

bright 
Gleamed ruddy like the beacon's 

light. 

XIII 

* Paled in by many a lofty hill, 
The narrow dale lay smooth and 

still, 
And, down its verdant bosom led, 
A winding brooklet found its 
bed. 220 

But midmost of the vale a mound 
Arose with airy turrets crowned, 
Buttress, and rampire's circling 
bound, 
And mighty keep and tower; 
Seemed some primeval giant's 

hand 
The castle's massive walls had 

planned, 
A ponderous bulwark to with- 
stand 



Ambitious Nimrod's power. 
Above the moated entrance slung, 
The balanced drawbridge trem- 
bling hung, 230 
As jealous of a foe ; 
Wicket of oak, as iron hard, 
With iron studded, clenched, and 

barred, 
And pronged portcullis, joined to 

guard 
The gloomy pass below. 
But the gray walls no banners 

crowned, 
Upon the watchtower's airy round 
No warder stood his horn to 

sound, 
No guard beside the bridge was 

found, 
And where the Gothic gateway 

frowned 240 

Glanced neither bill nor bow. 

XIV 

1 Beneath the castle's gloomy pride, 
In ample round did Arthur ride 
Three times ; nor living thing he 
spied, 
Nor heard a living sound, 
Save that, awakening from her 

dream, 
The owlet now began to scream 
In concert with the rushing stream 
That washed the battled mound. 
He lighted from his goodly steed, 
And he left him to graze on bank 
and mead ; 251 

And slowly he climbed the narrow 

way 
That reached the entrance grim 

and gray, 
And he stood the outward arch 

below, 
And his bugle-horn prepared to 
blow 
In summons blithe and bold, 
Deeming to rouse from iron sleep 
The guardian of this dismal keep, 
Which well he guessed the hold 
Of wizard stern, or goblin grim, 260 
Or pagan of gigantic limb, 
The tyrant of the wold. 



CANTO FIRST 



39i 



xv 

' The ivory bugle's golden tip 
Twice touched the monarch's man- 
ly lip, 
And twice his hand withdrew.— 
Think not but Arthur's heart was 

good! 
His shield was crossed by the 

blessed rood : 
Had a pagan host before him 

stood, 
He had charged them through 

and through ; 
Yet the silence of that ancient 

place 270 

Sunk on his heart, and he paused 

a space 
Ere yet his horn he blew. 
But, instant as its larum rung, 
The castle gate was open flung, 
Portcullis rose with crashing 

groan 
Full harshly up its groove of 

stone ; 
The balance-beams obeyed the 

blast, 
And down the trembling draw- 
bridge cast ; 
The vaulted arch before him lay 
With naught to bar the gloomy 

way, 280 

And onward Arthur paced with 

hand 
On Catiburn's resistless brand. 

XVI 

4 A hundred torches flashing 

bright 
Dispelled at once the gloomy 
night 
That loured along the walls, 
And showed the king's astonished 
sight 
The inmates of the halls. 
Nor wizard stern, nor goblin grim, 
Nor giant huge of form and limb, 
Nor heathen knight, was there ; 
But the cressets which odors flung 
aloft 291 

Showed by their yellow light and 
soft 



A band of damsels fair. 
Onward they came, like summer 

wave 
That dances to the shore ; 
An hundred voices welcome gave, 

And welcome o'er and o'er! 
An hundred lovely hands assail 
The bucklers of the monarch's 

mail, 
And busy labored to unhasp 300 
Rivet of steel and iron clasp. 
One w r rapped him in a mantle fair, 
And one flung odors on his hair ; 
His short curled ringlets one 

smoothed down, 
One wreathed them with a myrtle 

crown. 
A bride upon her wedding-day 
Was tended ne'er by troop so 

gay. 

XVII 

' Loud laughed they all, — the king 

in vain 
With questions tasked the giddy 

train ; 
Let him entreat or crave or call, 
'T was one reply — loud laughed 

they all. 3 1 1 

Then o'er him mimic chains they 

fling 
Framed of the fairest flowers of 

spring ; 
While some their gentle force 

unite 
Onward to drag the wondering 

knight, 
Some bolder urge his pace with 

blows, 
Dealt with the lily or the rose. 
Behind him were in triumph borne 
The warlike arms he late had 

worn. 3 19 

Four of the train combined to rear 
The terrors of Tintadgel's spear ; 
Two, laughing at their lack of 

strength, 
Dragged Caliburn in cumbrous 

length ; 
One, while she aped a martial 

stride, 



392 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



Placed on her brows the helmet's 
pride ; 

Then screamed 'twixt laughter 
and surprise 

To feel its depth o'erwhelm her 
eyes. 

With revel- shout and triumph- 
song 

Thus gayly marched the giddy 
throng. 

XVIII 

* Through many a gallery and hall 
They led, I ween, their royal 

thrall; 331 

At length, beneath a fair arcade 
Their march and song at once 

they staid. 
The eldest maiden of the band — 
The lovely maid was scarce 
eighteen — 
Raised with imposing air her hand, 
And reverent silence did com- 
mand 
On entrance of their Queen, 
And they were mute. — But as a 

glance 
They steal on Arthur's counte- 
nance 340 
Bewildered with surprise, 
Their smothered mirth again 'gan 

speak 
In archly dimpled chin and cheek 
And laughter-lighted eyes. 

XIX 

* The attributes of those high days 
Now only live in minstrel-lays ; 
For Nature, now exhausted, still 
Was then profuse of good and 

ill. 
Strength was gigantic, valor high, 
And wisdom soared beyond the 

sky, 350 

And beauty had such matchless 

beam 
As lights not now a lover's dream. 
Yet e'en in that romantic age 
Ne'er were such charms by 

mortal seen 
As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage, 



When forth on that enchanted 

stage 
With glittering train of maid and 
page 
Advanced the castle's queen ! 
While up the hall she slowly 
passed, 359 

Her dark eye on the king she cast 
That flashed expression strong ; 
The longer dwelt that lingering 

look, 
Her cheek the livelier color took, 
And scarce the shame-faced king 
could brook 
The gaze that lasted long. 
A sage who had that look espied, 
Where kindling passion strove 
with pride, 
Had whispered, " Prince, be- 
ware! 
From the chafed tiger rend the 

prey, 
Rush on the lion when at bay, 370 
Bar the fell dragon's blighted way, 
But shun that lovely snare ! " 

xx 

'At once, that inward strife sup- 
pressed, 
The dame approached her warlike 

guest, 
With greeting in that fair degree 
Where female pride and courtesy 
Are blended with such passing art 
As awes at once and charms the 

heart. 
A courtly welcome first she gave, 
Then of his goodness 'gan to crave 
Construction fair and true 381 
Of her light maidens' idle mirth, 
Who drew from lonely glens their 

birth 
Nor knew to pay to stranger worth 

And dignity their due ; 
And then she prayed that he would 

rest 
That night her castle's honored 

guest. 
The monarch meetly thanks ex- 
pressed ; 
The banquet rose at her behest, 



CANTO SECOND 



393 



With lay and tale, and laugh and 
jest, 390 

Apace the evening flew. 

XXI 

• The lady sate the monarch by, 

Now in her turn abashed and 
shy, 

And with indifference seemed to 
hear 

The toys he whispered in her 
ear. 

Her bearing modest was and fair, 

Yet shadows of constraint were 
there 

That showed an over-cautious care 
Some inward thought to hide ; 

Oft did she pause in full reply, 400 

And oft cast down her large dark 
eye, 

Oft checked the soft voluptuous 
sigh 
That heaved her bosom's pride. 

Slight symptoms these, but shep- 
herds know 

How hot the mid-day sun shall 
glow 
From the mist of morning sky ; 

And so the wily monarch guessed 

That this assumed restraint ex- 
pressed 

More ardent passions in the breast 
Than ventured to the eye. 410 

Closer he pressed while beakers 
rang, 

While maidens laughed and min- 
strels sang, 
Still closer to her ear — 

But why pursue the common tale ? 

Or wherefore show how knights 
prevail 
When ladies dare to hear? 

Or wherefore trace from what 
slight cause 

Its source one tyrant passion 
draws, 
Till, mastering all within, 

Where lives the man that has not 
tried 420 

How mirth can into folly glide 
And folly into sin ! » 



CANTO SECOND 
LYULPH'S TALE CONTINUED 



' Another day, another day, 
And yet another, glides away ! 
The Saxon stern, the pagan Dane, 
Maraud on Britain's shores again. 
Arthur, of Christendom the flower, 
Lies loitering in a lady's bower; 
The horn that foemen wont to fear 
Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian 

deer, 
And Caliburn, the British pride, 
Hangs useless by a lover's side. 10 

11 

' Another day, another day, 
And yet another, glides away. 
Heroic plans in pleasure drowned, 
He thinks not of the Table Round ; 
In lawless love dissolved his life, 
He thinks not of his beauteous 

wife : 
Better he loves to snatch a flower 
From bosom of his paramour 
Than from a Saxon knight to wrest 
The honors of his heathen crest; 
Better to wreathe mid tresses 

brown 21 

The heron's plume her hawk struck 

down 
Than o'er the altar give to flow 
The banners of a Paynim foe. 
Thus week by week and day by 

day 
His life inglorious glides away ; 
But she that soothes his dream 

with fear 
Beholds his hour of waking near. 

in 

'Much force have mortal charms 
to stay 29 

Our pace in Virtue's toilsome way ; 

But Guendolen's might far out- 
shine 

Each maid of merely mortal line. 

Her mother was of human birth, 

Her sire a Genie of the earth, 



394 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



In days of old deemed to preside 
O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's 

pride, 
By youths and virgins worshipped 

long 
With festive dance and choral 

song, 
Till, when the cross to Britain 

came, 39 

On heathen altars died the flame. 
Now, deep in Wastdale solitude, 
The downfall of his rights he rued, 
And born of his resentment heir, 
He trained to guile that lady fair, 
To sink in slothful sin and shame 
The champions of the Christian 

name. 
Well skilled to keep vain thoughts 

alive, 
And all to promise, naught to give, 
The timid youth had hope in store, 
The bold and pressing gained no 

more. 50 

As wildered children leave their 

home 
After the rainbow's arch to roam, 
Her lovers bartered fair esteem, 
Faith, fame, and honor, for a 

dream. 

IV 

'Her sire's soft arts the soul to 

tame 
She practised thus — till Arthur 

came; 
Then frail humanity had part, 
And all the mother claimed her 

heart. 
Forgot each rule her father gave, 
Sunk from a princess to a slave, 60 
Too late must Guendolen deplore, 
He that has all can hope no more ! 
Now must she see her lover strain 
At every turn her feeble chain, 
Watch to new-bind each knot and 

shrink 
To view each fast-decaying link. 
Art she invokes to Nature's aid, 
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid ; 
Each varied pleasure heard her 

call, 



The feast, the tourney, and the 
ball : 70 

Her storied lore she next applies, 
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes ; 
Now more than mortal wise and 

then 
In female softness sunk again : 
Now raptured with each wish com- 
plying, 
With feigned reluctance now deny- 
ing; 
Each charm she varied to retain 
A varying heart — and all in vain ! 



1 Thus in the garden's narrow 
bound 

Flanked by some castle's Gothic 
round, 80 

Fain would the artist's skill pro- 
vide 

The limits of his realms to hide. 

The walks in labyrinths he twines, 

Shade after shade with skill com- 
bines 

With many a varied flowery knot 

And copse and arbor decks the 
spot, 

Tempting the hasty foot to stay 

And linger on the lovely way — 

Vain art ! vain hope ! 't is fruitless 
all! 

At length we reach the bounding 
wall, 90 

And, sick of flower and trim- 
dressed tree, 

Long for rough glades and forest 
free. 

VI 

1 Three summer months had scantly 

flown 
When Arthur in embarrassed 

tone 
Spoke of his liegemen and his 

throne ; 
Said all too long had been his stay, 
And duties which a monarch sway, 
Duties unknown to humbler men, 
Must tear her knight from Guen- 
dolen. 



CANTO SECOND 



395 



She listened silently the while, ioo 
Her mood expressed in bitter 

smile ; 
Beneath her eye must Arthur 

quail 
And oft resume the unfinished 

tale, 
Confessing by his downcast eye 
The wrong he sought to*justify. 
He ceased. A moment mute she 

gazed, 
And then her looks to heaven she 

raised ; 
One palm her temples veiled to 

hide 
The tear that sprung in spite of 

pride ; 109 

The other for an instant pressed 
The foldings of her silken vest ! 

VII 

1 At her reproachful sign and look, 
The hint the monarch's conscience 

took. 
Eager he spoke — " No, lady, no ! 
Deem not of British Arthur so, 
Nor think he can deserter prove 
To the dear pledge of mutual love. 
I swear by sceptre and by sword, 
As belted knight and Britain's 

lord, 119 

That if a boy shall claim my care, 
That boy is born a kingdom's heir ; 
But, if a maiden Fate allows, 
To choose that mate a fitting 

spouse, 
A summer-day in lists shall strive 
My knights — the bravest knights 

alive — 
And he, the best and bravest tried, 
Shall Arthur's daughter claim for 

bride." 
He spoke with voice resolved and 

high — 
The lady deigned him not reply. 

VIII 

4 At dawn of morn ere on the 
brake 130 

His matins did a warbler make 
Or stirred his wing to brush away 



A single dewdrop from the spray, 
Ere yet a sunbeam through the 

mist 
The castle-battlements had kissed, 
The gates revolve, the drawbridge 

falls, 
And Arthur sallies from the walls. 
Doffed his soft garb of Persia's 

loom, 
And steel from spur to helmet 

plume, 
His Lybian steed full proudly 

trode, 140 

And joyful neighed beneath his 

load. 
The monarch gave a passing sigh 
To penitence and pleasures by, 
When, lo ! to his astonished ken 
Appeared the form of Guendolen. 

IX 

* Beyond the outmost wall she 
stood, 

Attired like huntress of the wood : 

Sandalled her feet, her ankles 
bare, 

And eagle - plumage decked her 
hair ; 

Firm was her look, her bearing 
bold, 150 

And in her hand a cup of gold. 

" Thou goest ! " she said, " and 
ne'er again 

Must we two meet in joy or pain. 

Full fain would I this hour delay, 

Though weak the wish — yet wilt 
thou stay ? 

No! thou look'st forward. Still 
attend, — 

Part we like lover and like friend." 

She raised the cup — " Not this the 
juice 

The sluggish vines of earth pro- 
duce; 

Pledge we at parting in the 
draught 160 

Which Genii love ! " — she said 
and quaffed ; 

And strange unwonted lustres fly 

From her flushed cheek and spar- 
kling eye. 



39^ 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



* The courteous monarch bent him 

low 
And, stooping down from saddle- 
bow, 
Lifted the cup in act to drink. 
A drop escaped the goblet's 

brink -*- 
Intense as liquid fire from hell, 
Upon the charger's neck it fell. 
Screaming with agony and fright, 
He bolted twenty feet upright — 
The peasant still can show the 

dint 172 

Where his hoofs lighted on the 

flint. — 
From Arthur's hand the goblet 

flew, 
Scattering a shower of fiery dew 
That burned and blighted where 

it fell ! 
The frantic steed rushed up the 

dell, 
As whistles from the bow the 

reed; 
Nor bit nor rein could check his 

speed 
Until he gained the hill ; 180 
Then breath and sinew failed 

apace, 
And, reeling from the desperate 

race, 
He stood exhausted, still. 
The monarch, breathless and 

amazed, 
Back on the fatal castle gazed — 
Nor tower nor donjon could he 

spy, 
Darkening against the morning 

sky; 
But on the spot where once they 

frowned 
The lonely streamlet brawled 

around 
A tufted knoll, where dimly shone 
Fragments of rock and rifted 

stone. 191 

Musing on this strange hap the 

while, 
The king wends back to fair Car- 
lisle ; 



And cares that cumber royal sway 
Wore memory of the past away. 

XI 

1 Full fifteen years and more were 
sped, 

Each brought new wreaths to 
Arthur's head. 

Twelve bloody fields with glory 
fought 

The Saxons to subjection brought : 

Rython, the mighty giant, slain 200 

By his good brand, relieved Bre- 
tagne : 

The Pictish Gillamore in fight 

And Roman Lucius owned his 
might ; 

And wide were through the world 
renowned 

The glories of his Table Round. 

Each knight who sought adven- 
turous fame 

To the bold court of Britain came, 

And all who suffered causeless 
wrong, 

From tyrant proud or faitour 
strong, 

Sought Arthur's presence to com- 
plain, 210 

Nor there for aid implored in vain. 

XII 

1 For this the king with pomp and 

pride 
Held solemn court at Whitsun- 
tide, 
And summoned prince and peer, 
All who owed homage for their 

land, 
Or who craved knighthood from 

his hand, 
Or who had succour to demand, 

To come from far and near. 
At such high tide were glee and 

game 
Mingled with feats of martial 

fame, 220 

For many a stranger champion 

came 
In lists to break a spear ; 
And not a knight of Arthur's host, 



CANTO SECOND 



397 



Save that he trode some foreign 

coast, 
But at this feast of Pentecost 

Before him must appear. 
Ah, minstrels ! when the Table 

Round 
Arose with all its warriors 

crowned, 
There was a theme for bards to 

sound 
In triumph to their string ! 230 
Five hundred years are past and 

gone, 
But time shall draw his dying 

groan 
Ere he behold the British throne 
Begirt with such a ring ! 

XIII 

1 The heralds named the appointed 

spot, 
As Caerleon or Camelot, 

Or Carlisle fair and free. 

At Penrith now the feast was set, 

And in fair Eamont's vale were 

met 

The flower of chivalry. 240 

There Galahad sate with manly 

grace, 
Yet maiden meekness in his face ; 
There Morolt of the iron mace, 
And love-lorn Tristrem there ; 
And Dinadam with lively glance, 
And Lanval with the fairy lance, 
And Mordred with his look 
askance, 
Brunor and Bevidere. 
Why should I tell of numbers 

more? 
Sir Cay, Sir Bannier, and Sir 
Bore, 250 

Sir Carodac the keen, 
The gentle Gawain's courteous 

lore, 
Hector de Mares and Pellinore, 
And Lancelot, that evermore 
Looked stolen-wise on the queen. 

xrv 
' When wine and mirth did most 
abound 



And harpers played their blithest 

round, 
A shrilly trumpet shook the 

ground 

And marshals cleared the ring ; 

A maiden on a palfrey white, 260 

Heading a band of damsels bright, 

Paced through the circle to alight 

And kneel before the king. 
Arthur with strong emotion saw 
Her graceful boldness checked by 

awe, 
Her dress like huntress of the 

wold, 
Her bow and baldric trapped with 

gold, 
Her sandalled feet, her ankles 

bare, 
And the eagle-plume that decked 

her hair. 
Graceful her veil she backward 

flung — 270 

The king, as from his seat he 

sprung, 
Almost cried, " Guendolen ! " 
But 't was a face more frank and 

wild, 
Betwixt the woman and the child, 
Where less of magic beauty smiled 

Than of the race of men ; 
And in the forehead's haughty 

grace 
The lines of Britain's royal race, 
Pendragon's you might ken. 

xv 

'Faltering, yet gracefully she 

said — 280 

" Great Prince ! behold an orphan 

maid, 
In her departed mother's name, 
A father's vowed protection claim ! 
The vow was sworn in desert 

lone 
In the deep valley of Saint John." 
At once the king the suppliant 

raised, 
And kissed her brow, her beauty 

praised ; 
His vow, he said, should well be 

kept, 



398 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



Ere in the sea the sun was 

dipped,— 
Then conscious glanced upon his 

queen: 290 

But she, unruffled at the scene 
Of human frailty construed mild, 
Looked upon Lancelot and smiled. 

XVI 

' " Up ! up ! each knight of gallant 
crest 
Take buckler, spear, and brand ! 
He that to-day shall bear him best 

Shall win my Gyneth's hand. 
And Arthur's daughter when a 
bride 
Shall bring a noble dower, 
Both fair Strath-Clyde and Reged 
wide, 300 

And Carlisle town and tower." 
Then might you hear each valiant 
knight 
To page and squire that cried, 
" Bring my armor bright and my 

courser wight ; 
'T is not each day that a warrior's 
might 
May win a royal bride." 
Then cloaks and caps of mainte- 
nance 
In haste aside they fling ; 
The helmets glance and gleams 
the lance, 
And the steel-weaved hauberks 
ring. 310 

Small care had they of their peace- 
ful array, 
They might gather it that wolde ; 
For brake and bramble glittered 
gay 
With pearls and cloth of gold. 

XVII 

* Within trumpet sound of the Ta- 
ble Round, 
Were fifty champions free, 
And they all arise to fight that 
prize,— 
They all arise but three. 
Nor love's fond troth nor wedlock's 
oath 



" One gallant could withhold, 320 
For priests will allow of a broken 
vow 
For penance or for gold. 
But sigh and glance from ladies 
bright 
Among the troop were thrown, 
To plead their right and true-love 
plight, 
And plain of honor flown. 
The knights they busied them so 
fast 
With buckling spur and belt 
That sigh and look by ladies cast 
Were neither seen nor felt. 330 
From pleading or upbraiding 
glance 
Each gallant turns aside, 
And only thought, " If speeds my 
lance, 
A queen becomes my bride ! 
She has fair Strath-Clyde and 
Reged wide, 
And Carlisle tower and town ; 
She is the loveliest maid, beside, 

That ever heired a crown." 
So in haste their coursers they be- 
stride 
And strike their visors down. 340 

XVIII 

' The champions, armed in martial 
sort, 
Have thronged into the list, 
And but three knights of Arthur's 
court 
Are from the tourney missed. 
And still these lovers' fame sur- 
vives 
For faith so constant shown,— 
There were two who loved their 
neighbors' wives, 
And one who loved his own. 
The first was Lancelot de Lac, 

The second Tristrem bold, 350 
The third was valiant Carodac, 

Who won the cup of gold, 
What time, of all King Arthur's 
crew — 
Thereof came jeer and laugh — 
He, as the mate of lady true, 



CANTO SECOND 



399 



Alone the cup could quaff. 
Though envy's tongue would fain 
surmise 
That, but for very shame, 
Sir Carodac to fight that prize 

Had given both cup and dame, 
Yet, since but one of that fair 
court 361 

Was due to wedlock's shrine, 
Brand him who will with base re- 
port, 
He shall be free from mine. 

XIX 

' Now caracoled the steeds in air, 
Now plumes and pennons wan- 
toned fair, 
As all around the lists so wide 
In panoply the champions ride. 
King Arthur saw with startled 

eye 
The flower of chivalry march by, 
The bulwark of the Christian 
creed, 371 

The kingdom's shield in hour of 

need. 
Too late he thought him of the woe 
Might from their civil conflict flow ; 
For well he knew they would not 

part 
Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue, 
And Gyneth then apart he drew ; 
To her his leading-staff resigned, 
But added caution grave and kind. 

xx 

* " Thou see'st, my child, as pro- 
mise-bound, 381 
I bid the trump for tourney sound. 
Take thou my warder as the queen 
And umpire of the martial scene ; 
But mark thou this : — as Beauty 

bright 
Is polar star to valiant knight, 
As at her word his sword he draws, 
His fairest guerdon her applause, 
So gentle maid should never ask 
Of knighthood vain and dangerous 
task ; 390 

And Beauty's eyes should ever be 



Like the twin stars that soothe 
the sea, 

And Beauty's breath should whis- 
per peace 

And bid the storm of battle cease. 

I tell thee this lest all too far 

These knights urge tourney into 
war. 

Blithe at the trumpet let them go, 

And fairly counter blow for 
blow; — 

No striplings these, who succor 
need 399 

For a razed helm or falling steed. 

But, Gyneth, when the strife grows 
warm 

And threatens death or deadly 
harm, 

Thy sire entreats, thy king com- 
mands, 

Thou drop the warder from thy 
hands. 

Trust, thou thy father with thy 
fate, 

Doubt not he choose thee fitting 
mate; 

Nor be it said through Gyneth' s 
pride 

A rose of Arthur's chaplet died." 

XXI 

* A proud and discontented glow 
O'ershadowed Gyneth's brow of 

snow ; 410 

She put the warder by,: — 
" Reserve thy boon, my liege," she 

said, 
" Thus chaffered down and limited, 
Debased and narrowed for a maid 

Of less degree than I. 
No petty chief but holds his heir 
At a more honored price and rare 

Than Britain's King holds me ! 
Although the sun-burned maid for 

dower 
Has but her father's rugged tower, 
His barren hill and lee." 421 
King Arthur swore, " By crown 

and sword, 
As belted knight and Britain's 
lord, 



400 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



That a whole summer's day should 

strive 
His knights, the bravest knights 

alive! " — 
"Kecall thine oath! and to her 

glen 
Poor Gyneth can return agen ; 
Not on thy daughter will the stain 
That soils thy sword and crown 

remain. 
But think not she will e'er be bride 
Save to the bravest, proved and 

tried; 431 

Pendragon's daughter will not fear 
For clashing sword or splintered 

spear, 
Nor shrink though blood should 

flow; 
And all too well sad Guendolen 
Hath taught the faithlessness of 

men 
That child of hers should pity when 
Their meed they undergo." 

XXII 

1 He frowned and sighed, the mon- 
arch bold : — 

" I 'give — what I may not with- 
hold ; 440 

For, not for danger, dread, or 
death, 

Must British Arthur break his 
faith. 

Too late I mark thy mother's art 

Hath taught thee this relentless 
part. 

I blame her not, for she had wrong, 

But not to these my faults be- 
long. 

Use then the warder as thou wilt ; 

But trust me that, if life be spilt, 

In Arthur's love, in Arthur's 
grace, 

Gyneth shall lose a daughter's 
place." 450 

With that he turned his head 
aside, 

Nor brooked to gaze upon her 
pride, 

As with the truncheon raised she 
sate 



The arbitress of mortal fate ; 

Nor brooked to mark in ranks dis- 
posed 

How the bold champions stood op- 
posed, 

For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell 

Upon his ear like passing bell ! 

Then first from sight of martial 
fray 

Did Britain's hero turn away. 460 

XXIII 

1 But Gyneth heard the clangor 

high 
As hears the hawk the partridge 

cry. 
0, blame her not ! the blood was 

hers 
That at the trumpet's summons 

stirs ! — 
And e'en the gentlest female eye 
Might the brave strife of chivalry 

Awhile untroubled view ; 
So well accomplished was each 

knight 
To strike and to defend in fight, 
Their meeting was a goodly sight 
While plate and mail held true. 
The lists with painted plumes were 

strown, 472 

Upon the wind at random thrown, 
But helm and breastplate bloodless 

shone, 
It seemed their feathered crests 

alone 
Should this encounter rue. 
And ever, as the combat grows, 
The trumpet's cheery voice arose, 
Like lark's shrill song the flourish 

flows, 
Heard while the gale of April 

blows 480 

The merry greenwood through. 

xxrv 

'But soon to earnest grew their 

game, 
The spears drew blood, the swords 

struck flame, 
And, horse and man, to ground 

there came 



CANTO SECOND 



401 



Knights who shall rise no 
more ! 

Gone was the pride the war that 
graced, 

Gay shields were cleft and crests 
defaced, 

And steel coats riven and helms 
unbraced, 
And pennons streamed with 
gore. 

Gone too were fence and fair ar- 
ray, 490 

And desperate strength made 
deadly way 

At random through the bloody 
fray, 

And blows were dealt with head- 
long sway, 
Unheeding where they fell ; 

And now the trumpet's clamors 
seem 

Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing 
scream 

Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing 
stream, 
The sinking seaman's knell! 

XXV 

' Seemed in this dismal hour that 

Fate 
Would Camlan's ruin antedate, 500 
And spare dark Mordred's crime ; 
Already gasping on the ground 
Lie twenty of the Table Round, 

Of chivalry the prime. 
Arthur in anguish tore away 
From head and beard his tresses 

gray, 
And she, proud Gyneth, felt dis- 
may 
And quaked with ruth and fear ; 
But still she deemed her mother's 

shade 
Hung o'er the tumult, and for- 
bade 510 
The sign that had the slaughter 
staid, 
And chid the rising tear. 
Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell, 
Helias the White, and Lionel, 
And many a champion more ; 



Rochement and Dinadam are 

down, 
And Ferrand of the Forest Brown 

Lies gasping in his gore. 
Vanoc, by mighty Morolt pressed 
Even to the confines of the list, 520 
Young Vanoc of the beardless 

face — 
Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's 

race — 
O'erpowered at Gyneth' s footstool 

bled, 
His heart's-blood dyed her sandals 

red. 
But then the sky was overcast, 
Then howled at once a whirlwind's 

blast, 
And, rent by sudden throes, 
Yawned in mid lists the quaking 

earth, 
And from the gulf — tremendous 

birth! — 
The form of Merlin rose. 530 

XXVI 

' Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed 
The dreary lists with slaughter 

dyed, 
And sternly raised his hand : — 
" Madmen," he said, " your strife 

forbear ! 
And thou, fair cause of mischief, 

hear 
The doom thy fates demand ! 
Long shall close in stony sleep 
Eyes for ruth that would not weep; 
Iron lethargy shall seal 539 

Heart that pity scorned to feel. 
Yet, because thy mother's art 
Warped thine unsuspicious heart, 
And for love of Arthur's race 
Punishment is blent with grace, 
Thou shalt bear thy penance lone 
In the valley of Saint John, 
And this weird shall overtake 

thee ; 
Sleep until a knight shall wake 

thee, 
For feats of arms as far renowned 
As warrior of the Table Round. 
Long endurance of thy slumber 



402 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



Well may teach the world to 
number 552 

All their woes from Gyneth's 
pride, 

When the Eed Cross champions 
died." 

XXVII 

*As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's 

eye 
Slumber's load begins to lie ; 
Fear and anger vainly strive 
Still to keep its light alive. 
Twice with effort and with pause 
O'er her brow her hand she 

draws ; 560 

Twice her strength in vain she 

tries 
From the fatal chair to rise ; 
Merlin's magic doom is spoken, 
Vanoc's death must now be wro- 

ken. 
Slow the dark-fringed eyelids fall, 
Curtaining each azure ball, 
Slowly as on summer eves 
Violets fold their dusky leaves. 
The weighty baton of command 
Now bears down her sinking 

hand, 570 

On her shoulder droops her head ; 
Net of pearl and golden thread 
Bursting gave her locks to flow 
O'er her arm and breast of snow. 
And so lovely seemed she there, 
Spell-bound in her ivory chair, 
That her angry sire repenting 
Craved stern Merlin for relenting, 
And the champions for her sake 
Would again the contest wake ; 580 
Till in necromantic night 
Gyneth vanished from their sight. 

XXVIII 

* Still she bears her weird alone 
In the Valley of Saint John ; 
And her semblance oft will seem, 
Mingling in a champion's dream, 
Of her weary lot to plain 
And crave his aid to burst her 

chain. 
While her wondrous tale was new 



Warriors to her rescue drew, 590 
East and west,and south and north, 
From the Liffy, Thames, and 

Forth. 
Most have sought in vain the glen, 
Tower nor castle could they ken ; 
Not at every time or tide, 
Nor by every eye, descried. 
Fast and vigil must be borne, 
Many a night in watching worn, 
Ere an eye of mortal powers 
Can discern those magic towers. 
Of the persevering few 601 

Some from hopeless task with- 
drew 
When they read the dismal threat 
Graved upon the gloomy gate. 
Few have braved the yawning 

door, 
And those few returned no more. 
In the lapse of time forgot, 
Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot; 
Sound her sleep as in the tomb 
Till wakened by the trump of 
doom.' 610 

END OF LYULPH'S TALE 



Here pause, my tale ; for all too 

soon, 
My Lucy, comes the hour of noon. 
Already from thy lofty dome 
Its courtly inmates 'gin to roam, 
And each, to kill the goodly day 
That God has granted them, his 
way 
Of lazy sauntering has sought ; 
Lordlings and witlings not a 
few, 
Incapable of doing aught, 
Yet ill at ease with naught to 
do. 620 

Here is no longer place for me ; 
For, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to 
see 
Some phantom fashionably thin, 
With limb of lath and kerchiefed 

chin 
And lounging gape or sneering 
grin, 



CANTO SECOND 



403 



Steal sudden on our privacy. 
And how should I, so humbly 

horn, 
Endure the graceful spectre's 

scorn ? 
Faith ! ill, I fear, while conjuring 

wand 629 

Of English oak is hard at hand. 

11 
Or grant the hour be all too soon 
For Hessian boot and pantaloon, 
And grant the lounger seldom 

strays 
Beyond the smooth and gravelled 

maze, 
Laud we the gods that Fashion's 

train 
Holds hearts of more adventurous 

strain. 
Artists are hers who scorn to 

trace 
Their rules from Nature's bound- 
less grace, 
But their right paramount assert 
To limit her by pedant art, 640 
Damning whate'er of vast and fair 
Exceeds a canvas three feet 

square. 
This thicket, for their gumption 

fit, 
May furnish such a happy bit. 
Bards too are hers, wont to recite 
Their own sw r eet lays by waxen 

light. 
Half in the salver's tingle drowned, 
While the chasse-cafe glides 

around ; 
And such may hither secret stray 
To labor an extempore : 650 

Or sportsman with his boisterous 

hollo 
May here his wiser spaniel follow, 
Or stage-struck Juliet may pre- 
sume 
To choose this bower for tiring- 
room ; 
And we alike must shun regard 
From painter, player, sportsman, 

bard. 
Insects that skim in fashion's sky, 



Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly, 
Lucy, have all alarms for us, 659 
For all can hum and all can buzz. 

in 

But 0, my Lucy, say how long 
We still must dread this trifling 

throng, 
And stoop to hide with coward art 
The genuine feelings of the heart ! 
No parents thine whose just com- 
mand 
Should rule their child's obedient 

hand; 
Thy guardians with contending 

voice 
Press each his individual choice. 
And which is Lucy's ? — Can it be 
That puny fop, trimmed cap-a- 
pie, 670 
Who loves in the saloon to show 
The arms that never knew a foe ; 
Whose sabre trails along the 

ground, 
Whose legs in shapeless boots are 

drowned ; 
A new Achilles, sure — the steel 
Fled from his breast to fence his 

heel; 
One, for the simple manly grace 
That wont to deck our martial 
race, 678 

Who comes in foreign trashery 

Of tinkling chain and spur, 
A walking haberdashery 
Of feathers, lace, and fur : 
In Rowley's antiquated phrase, 
Horse-milliner of modern days ? 

IV 

Or is it he, the wordy youth, 
So early trained for states- 
man's part, 
Who talks of honor, faith and 
truth, 
As themes that he has got by 
heart ; 
Whose ethics Chesterfield can 

teach, 
Whose logic is from Single - 
speech ; 690 



404 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



Who scorns the meanest thought 

to vent 
Save in the phrase of Parliament ; 
Who, in a tale of cat and mouse, 
Calls 'order,' and 'divides the 

house.' 
Who ' craves permission to reply,' 
Whose * noble friend is in his eye ; ' 
Whose loving tender some have 

reckoned 
A motion you should gladly 

second ? 

v 

What, neither? Can there be a 

third, 
To such resistless swains pre- 
ferred? — 700 
O why, my Lucy, turn aside 
With that quick glance of injured 

pride ? 
Forgive me, love, I cannot bear 
That altered and resentful air. 
Were all the wealth of Eussel 

mine 
And all the rank of Howard's 

line, 
All would I give for leave to dry 
That dewdrop trembling in thine 

eye. 
Think not I fear such fops can 

wile 
From Lucy more than careless 

smile; 710 

But yet if wealth and high de- 
gree 
Give gilded counters currency, 
Must I not fear when rank and 

birth 
Stamp the pure ore of genuine 

worth ? 
Nobles there are whose martial 

fires 
Rival the fame that raised their 

sires, 
And patriots, skilled through 

storms of fate 
To guide and guard the reeling 

state. 
Such, such there are. — If such 

should come, 719 



Arthur must tremble and be dumb, 
Self -exiled seek some distant 

shore, 
And mourn till life and grief are 

o'er. 

VI 

What sight, what signal of alarm, 
That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm ? 
Or is it that the rugged way 
Makes Beauty lean on lover's 

stay? 
O, no ! for on the vale and brake 
Nor sight nor sounds of danger 

wake, 
And this trim sward of velvet 

green 
Were carpet for the Fairy Queen. 
That pressure slight was but to 

tell 73 x 

That Lucy loves her Arthur well, 
And fain would banish from his 

mind 
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind. 

VII 

But wouldst thou bid the demons 

fly 

Like mist before the dawning 

sky, 
There is but one resistless spell— 
Say, wilt thou guess or must I 

tell? 
'Twere hard to name in minstrel 

phrase 739 

A landaulet and four blood-bays, 
But bards agree this wizard band 
Can but be bound in Northern 

land. 
'Tis there — nay, draw not back 

thy hand ! — 
'Tis there this slender finger 

round 
Must golden amulet be bound, 
Which, blessed with many a holy 

prayer, 
Can change to rapture lovers' 

care, 
And doubt and jealousy shall 

die, 
And fears give place to ecstasy. 



CANTO THIRD 



405 



VIII 

Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long, 
Has been thy lover's tale and 
song. 751 

0, why so silent, love, I pray ? 
Have I not spoke the livelong day ? 
And will not Lucy deign to say 

One word her friend to bless ? 
I ask but one — a simple sound, 
Within three little letters bound — 

O, let the word be YES ! 



CANTO THIRD 



INTRODUCTION 



Long loved, long wooed, and lately 

won, 
My life's best hope, and now mine 

own! 
Doth not this rude and Alpine glen 
Recall our favorite haunts agen ? 
A wild resemblance we can trace, 
Though reft of every softer grace, 
As the rough warrior's brow may 

bear 
A likeness to a sister fair. 
Full well advised our Highland 

host 
That this wild pass on foot be 
crossed, 10 

While round Ben-Cruach's mighty 

base 
Wheel the slow steeds and linger- 
ing chase. 
The keen old carle, with Scottish 

pride 
He praised his glen and mountains 

wide; 
An eye he bears for nature's face, 
Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. 
Even in such mean degree we find 
The subtle Scot's observing mind ; 
For nor the chariot nor the train 
Could gape of vulgar wonder gain, 
But when old Allan would ex- 
pound 21 
Of Beal-na-paish the Celtic sound, 
His bonnet doffed and.bow applied 



His legend to my bonny bride ; 
While Lucy blushed beneath his 

eye, 
Courteous and cautious, shrewd 

and sly. 

11 

Enough of him. — Now, ere we 

lose, 
Plunged in the vale, the distant 

views, 
Turn thee, my love! look back 

once more 29 

To the blue lake's retiring shore. 
On its smooth breast the shadows 

seem 
Like objects in a morning dream, 
What time the slumberer is aware 
He sleeps and all the vision 's air : 
Even so on yonder liquid lawn, 
In hues of bright reflection drawn, 
Distinct the shaggy mountains lie, 
Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky ; 
The summer-clouds so plain we 

note 
That we might count each dappled 

spot : 40 

We gaze and we admire, yet know 
The scene is all delusive show. 
Such dreams of bliss would Arthur 

draw 
When first his Lucy's form he saw, 
Yet sighed and sickened as he 

drew, 
Despairing they could e'er prove 

true! 

in 

But, Lucy, turn thee now to view 
Up the fair glen our destined 
way: 
The fairy path that we pursue, 49 
Distinguished but by greener hue, 

Winds round the purple brae, 
While Alpine flowers of varied dye 
For carpet serve or tapestry. 
See how the little runnels leap 
In threads of silver down the steep 

To swell the brooklet's moan ! 
Seems that the Highland Naiad 
grieves, 



406 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



Fantastic while her crown she 

weaves 
Of rowan, birch, and alder leaves, 
So lovely and so lone. 60 

There's no illusion there; these 

flowers, 
That wailing brook, these lovely 

bowers, 
Are, Lucy, all our own ; 
And, since thine Arthur called thee 

wife, 
Such seems the prospect of his life, 
A lovely path on-winding still 
By gurgling brook and sloping hill. 
'T is true that mortals cannot tell 
What waits them in the distant 

dell; 
But be it hap or be it harm, 70 
We tread the pathway arm in arm. 

IV 

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou 

why 
I could thy bidding twice deny, 
When twice you prayed I would 

again 
Resume the legendary strain 
Of the bold knight of Triermain ? 
At length yon peevish vow you 

swore 
That you would sue to me no more, 
Until the minstrel fit drew near 79 
And made me prize a listening ear. 
But, loveliest, when thou first didst 

pray 
Continuance of the knightly lay, 
Was it not on the happy day 

That made thy hand mine own ? 
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy, 
Naught past, or present, or to be, 
Could I or think on, hear, or see, 

Save, Lucy, thee alone ! 
A giddy draught my rapture was 
As ever chemist's magic gas. 90 



Again the summons I denied 
In yon fair capital of Clyde : 
My harp — or let me rather choose 
The good old classic form — my 
Muse — 



For harp 's an over - scutched 

phrase, 
Worn out by bards of modern 

days — 
My Muse, then— seldom will she 

wake, 
Save by dim wood and silent 

lake ; 
She is the wild and rustic maid 
Whose foot unsandalled loves to 

tread 100 

Where the soft greensward is in- 
laid 
With varied moss and thyme ; 
And, lest the simple lily-braid, 
That coronets her temples fade, 
She hides her still in greenwood 

shade 
To meditate her rhyme. 

VI 

And now she comes ! The murmur 

dear 
Of the wild brook hath caught her 

ear, 
The glade hath won her eye ; 
She longs to join with each blithe 

rill no 

That dances down the Highland 

hill 
Her blither melody. 
And now my Lucy's way to cheer 
She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear 
How closed the tale my love 

whilere 
Loved for its chivalry. 
List how she tells in notes of flame 
'Child Roland to the dark tower 

came ! ■ 



Bewcastle now must keep the 
hold, 
Speir-Adam's steeds must bide 
in stall, 
Of Hartley-burn the bowmen bold 
Must only shoot from battled 
wall; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spur, 



CANTO THIRD 



407 



And Teviot now may belt the 
brand, 
Tarras and Ewes keep nightly stir, 
And Eskdale foray Cumberland. 
Of wasted fields and plundered 
flocks 
The Borderers bootless may 
• complain; 10 

They lack the sword of brave De 
Vaux, 
There comes no aid from Trier- 
main. 
That lord on high adventure bound 

Had wandered forth alone, 
And day and night keeps watchful 
round 
In the valley of Saint John. 

11 
When first began his vigil bold 
The moon twelve summer nights 
was old 
And shone both fair and full ; 
High in the vault of cloudless 
blue, 20 

O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she 
threw 
Her light composed and cool. 
Stretched on the brown hill's 
heathy breast, 
Sir Roland eyed the vale ; 
Chief where, distinguished from 

the rest, 
Those clustering rocks upreared 

their crest, 
The dwelling of the fair distressed, 

As told gray Lyulph's tale. 
Thus as he lay, the lamp of night 
Was quivering on his armor 
bright 30 

In beams that rose and fell, 
And danced upon his buckler's 

boss 
That lay beside him on the moss 
As on a crystal well. 

in 
Ever he watched and oft he 

deemed, 
While on the mound the moonlight 

streamed, 



It altered to his eyes ; 
Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan 

change 
To buttressed walls their shape- 
less range, 
Fain think by transmutation 
strange 40 

He saw gray turrets rise. 
But scarce his heart with hope 

throbbed high 
Before the wild illusions fly 

Which fancy had conceived, 
Abetted by an anxious eye 

That longed to be deceived. 
It was a fond deception all, 
Such as in solitary hall 

Beguiles the musing eye 49 

When, gazing on the sinking fire, 
Bulwark, and battlement, and 
spire 

In the red gulf we spy. 
For, seen by moon of middle night, 
Or by the blaze of noontide bright, 
Or by the dawn of morning light, 

Or evening's western flame, 
In every tide, at every hour, 
In mist, in sunshine, and in shower, 

The rocks remained the same. 

IV 

Oft has he traced the charmed 
mound, 60 

Oft climbed its crest or paced it 
round, 
Yet nothing might explore. 
Save that the crags so rudely piled, 
At distance seen, resemblance 
wild 
To a rough fortress bore. 
Yet still his watch the warrior 

keeps, 
Feeds hard and spare, and seldom 
sleeps, 
And drinks but of the well ; 
Ever by day he walks the hill, 69 
And when the evening gale is chill 

He seeks a rocky cell, 
Like hermit poor to bid his bead, 
And tell his Ave and his Creed, 
Invoking every saint at need 
For aid to burst his spell. 



408 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



And now the moon her orb has hid 
And dwindled to a silver thread, 

Dim seen in middle heaven, 
While o'er its curve careering fast 
Before the fury of the blast 80 
The midnight clouds are driven. 
The brooklet raved, for on the hills 
The upland showers had swoln the 
rills 
And down the torrents came ; 
Muttered the distant thunder 

dread, 
And frequent o'er the vale was 
spread 
A sheet of lightning flame. 
De Vaux within his mountain 

cave — 
No human step the storm durst 

brave — 
To moody meditation gave 90 

Each faculty of soul, 
Till, lulled by distant torrent sound 
And the sad winds that whistled 

round, 
Upon his thoughts in musing 
drowned 
A broken slumber stole. 

VI 

'Twas then was heard a heavy 
sound — 
Sound, strange and fearful there 
to hear, 
'Mongst desert hills where leagues 
around 
Dwelt but the gorcock and the 
deer. 99 

As, starting from his couch of fern, 
Again he heard in clangor stern 

That deep and solemn swell, 
Twelve times in measured tone it 

spoke, 
Like some proud minster's pealing 
clock 
Or city's larum-bell. 
What thought was Roland's first 

when fell 
In that deep wilderness the knell 

Upon his startled ear ? 
To slander warrior were I loath, 



Yet must I hold my minstrel 
troth— IIO 

It was a thought of fear. 

VII 

But lively was the mingled thrill 
That chased that momentary chill, 
For Love's keen wish was there 1 , 
And eager Hope, and Valor higb, 
And the proud glow of Chivalry 

That burned to do and dare. 
Forth from the cave the warrior 

rushed, 
Long ere the mountain-voice was 
hushed 
That answered to the knell ; 120 
For long and far the unwonted 

sound, 
Eddying in echoes round and 
round, 
Was tossed from fell to fell ; 
And Glaramara answer flung, 
And Grisdale - pike responsive 

rung, 
And Legbert heights their echoes 
swung 
As far as Derwent's dell. 

VIII 

Forth upon trackless darkness 

gazed 
The knight, bedeafened and 
amazed. 
Till all was hushed and still, 130 
Save the swoln torrent's sullen 

roar, 
And the night -blast that wildly 
bore 
Its course along the hill. 
Then on the northern sky there 

came 
A light as of reflected flame, 

And over Legbert-head, 
As if by magic art controlled, 
A mighty meteor slowly rolled 

Its orb of fiery red ; 
Thou wouldst have thought some 
demon dire 140 

Came mounted on that car of fire 

To do his errand dread. 
Far on the sloping valley's course, 



CANTO THIRD 



409 



On thicket, rock, and torrent 

hoarse, 
Shingle and Scrae, and Fell and 

Force, 
A dusky light arose : 
Displayed, yet altered was the 

scene ; 
Dark rock, and brook of silver 

sheen, 
Even the gay thicket's summer 

green, 
In bloody tincture glows. 150 

IX 

De Vaux had marked the sun- 
beams set 
At eve upon the coronet 

Of that enchanted mound, 
And seen but crags at random 

flung, 
That, o'er the brawling torrent 
hung, 
In desolation frowned. 
What sees he by that meteor's 

lour? — 
A bannered castle, keep, and tower 

Keturn the lurid gleam, 
With battled walls and buttress 
fast, 160 

And barbican and ballium vast, 
And airy flanking towers that cast 

Their shadows on the stream. 
'T is no deceit! distinctly clear 
Crenell and parapet appear, 
While o'er the pile that meteor 
drear 
Makes momentary pause ; 
Then forth its solemn path it drew, 
And fainter yet and fainter grew 
Those gloomy towers upon the 
view, 170 

As its wild light withdraws. 



Forth from the cave did Eoland 

rush, 
O'er crag and stream, through 

brier and bush ; 
Yet far he had not sped 
Ere sunk was that portentous light 
Behind the hills and utter night 



Was on the valley spread. 
He paused perforce and blew his 

horn, 
And, on the mountain - echoes 
borne, 179 

Was heard an answering sound, 
A wild and lonely trumpet note,— 
In middle air it seemed to float 
High o'er the battled mound ; 
And sounds were heard as when a 

guard 
Of some proud castle, holding 
ward, 
Pace forth their nightly round. 
The valiant Knight of Triermain 
Kung forth his challenge- blast 
again, 
But answer came there none ; 
And mid the mingled wind and 
rain 190 

Darkling he sought the vale in 
vain, 
Until the dawning shone ; 
And when it dawned that won- 
drous sight 
Distinctly seen by meteor light, 

It all had passed away ! 
And that enchanted mount once 

more 
A pile of granite fragments bore 
As at the close of day. i 

XI 

Steeled for the deed, De Vaux's 

heart 
Scorned from his vent'rous quest 

to part, 200 

He walks the vale once more ; 
But only sees by night or day 
That shattered pile of rocks so 

gray, 
Hears but the torrent's roar : 
Till when, through hills of azure 

borne, 
The moon renewed her silver horn, 
Just at the time her waning ray 
Had faded in the dawning day, 

A summer mist arose ; 209 

Adown the vale the vapors float, 
And cloudy undulations moat 
That tufted mound of mystic note, 



4io 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



As round its base they close. 
And higher now the fleecy tide 
Ascends its stern and shaggy side, 
Until the airy billows bide 

The rock's majestic isle ; 
It seemed a veil of filmy lawn, 
By some fantastic fairy drawn 

Around enchanted pile. 220 

XII 

The breeze came softly down the 
brook, 
And, sighing as it blew, 
The veil of silver mist it shook 
And to De Vaux's eager look 

Renewed that wondrous view. 
For, though the loitering vapor 

braved 
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 

Its mantle's dewy fold ; 
And still when shook that filmy 

screen 
Were towers and bastions dimly 
seen, 230 

And Gothic battlements between 

Their gloomy length unrolled. 
Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on 

thine eye 
Once more the fleeting vision 
die! — 
The gallant knight 'gan speed 
As prompt and light as, when the 

hound 
Is opening and the horn is wound, 

Careers the hunter's steed. 
Down the steep dell his course 
amain 
Hath rivalled archer's shaft -,240 
But ere the mound he could attain 
The rocks their shapeless form re- 
gain, 
And, mocking loud his labor vain, 

The mountain spirits laughed. 
Far up the echoing dell was borne 
Their wild unearthly shout of 
scorn. 

XIII 

Wroth waxed the warrior. — 4 Am 

I then 
Fooled by the enemies of men, 



Like a poor hind whose homeward 

way 
Is haunted by malicious fay ? 250 
Is Triermain become your taunt, 
De Vaux your scorn ? False fiends, 

avaunt ! ' 
A weighty curtal-axe he bare ; 
The baleful blade so bright and 

square, 
And the tough shaft of heben 

wood, 
Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued. 
Backward his stately form he 

drew, 
And at the rocks the weapon 

threw 
Just where one crag's projected 

crest 
Hung proudly balanced o'er the 

rest. 260 

Hurled with main force the wea- 
pon's shock 
Rent a huge fragment of the rock. 
If by mere strength, 't were hard 

to tell, 
Or if the blow dissolved some spell, 
But down the headlong ruin came 
With cloud of dust and flash of 

flame. 
Down bank, o'er bush, its course 

was borne, 
Crushed lay the copse, the earth 

was torn, 
Till staid at length the ruin dread 
Cumbered the torrent's rocky bed, 
And bade the waters' high-swoln 

tide 271 

Seek other passage for its pride. 

XIV 

When ceased that thunder Trier- 
main 

Surveyed the mound's rude front 
again ; 

And lo ! the ruin had laid bare, 

Hewn in the stone, a winding stair 

Whose mossed and fractured steps 
might lend 

The means the summit to ascend ; 

And by whose aid the brave De 
Vaux 



CANTO THIRD 



411 



Began to scale these magic rocks, 

And soon a platform won 281 

Where, the wild witchery to close, 

Within three lances' length arose 

The Castle of Saint John ! 
No misty phantom of the air, 
No meteor - blazoned show was 

there ; 
In morning splendor full and fair 
The massive fortress shone. 

xv 

Embattled high and proudly tow- 
ered, 

Shaded by ponderous flankers, 
lowered 290 

The portal's gloomy w r ay. 

Though for six hundred years and 
more 

Its strength had brooked the tem- 
pest's roar, 

The scutcheoned emblems which 
it bore 
Had suffered no decay : 

But from the eastern battlement 

A turret had made sheer descent, 

And, down in recent ruin rent, 
In the mid torrent lay. 

Else, o'er the castle's brow sub- 
lime, 300 

Insults of violence or of time 
Unfelt had passed away. 

In shapeless characters of yore, 

The gate this stern inscription 
bore : 

XVI 
INSCRIPTION 

• Patience waits the destined day, 
Strength can clear the cumbered 

way. 
Warrior, who hast waited long, 
Firm of soul, of sinew strong, 
It is given to thee to gaze 
On the pile of ancient days. 310 
Never mortal builder's hand 
This enduring fabric planned ; 
Sign and sigil, word of power, 
From the earth raised keep and 

tower. 



View it o'er and pace it round, 
Rampart, turret, battled mound. 
Dare no more ! To cross the 

gate 
Were to tamper with thy fate ; 
Strength and fortitude were vain, 
View it o'er — and turn again.' 320 

XVII 

' That would I,' said the warrior 

bold, 
' If that my frame were bent and 

old, 
And my thin blood dropped slow 

and cold 
As icicle in thaw ; 
But while my heart can feel it 

dance 
Blithe as the sparkling wine of 

France, 
And this good arm wields sword 

or lance, 
I mock these words of awe ! ■ 
He said ; the wicket felt the sway 
Of his strong hand and straight 

gave way, 330 

And with rude crash and jarring 

bray 
The rusty bolts withdraw ; 
But o'er the threshold as he strode 
And forward took the vaulted 

road, 
An unseen arm with force amain 
The ponderous gate flung close 

again, 
And rusted bolt and bar 
Spontaneous took their place once 

more 
While the deep arch with sullen 

roar 
Returned their surly jar. 340 
' Now closed is the gin and the 

prey within, 
By the Eood of Lanercost ! 
But he that would win the war- 
wolf's skin 
May rue him of his boast.' 
Thus muttering on the warrior 

went 
By dubious light down steep de- 
scent. 



412 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



XVIII 

Unbarred, unlocked, unwatched, a 

port 
Led to the castle's outer court : 
There the main fortress, broad 

and tall, 
Spread its long range of bower 

and hall 350 

And towers of varied size, 
Wrought with each ornament ex- 
treme 
That Gothic art in wildest dream 

Of fancy could devise ; 
But full between the warrior's 

way 
And the main portal arch there lay 
An inner moat ; 
Nor bridge nor boat 
Affords De Vaux the means to 

cross 
The clear, profound, and silent 

fosse. 360 

His arms aside in haste he flings, 
Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings, 
And down falls helm and down the 

shield, 
Rough with the dints of many a 

fleld. 
Fair was his manly form and fair 
His keen dark eye and close curled 

hair, 
When all unarmed save that the 

brand 
Of well-proved metal graced his 

hand, 
With naught to fence his daunt- 
less breast 369 
But the close gipon's under-vest, 
Whose sullied buff the sable stains 
Of hauberk and of mail retains, — 
Roland De Vaux upon the brim 
Of the broad moat stood prompt 

to swim. 

XIX 

Accoutred thus he dared the tide, 
And soon he reached the farther 

side 
And entered soon the hold, 
And paced a hall whose walls so 

wide 



Were blazoned all with feats of 
pride 
By warriors done of old. 380 

In middle lists they countered here 
While trumpets seemed to blow ; 

And there in den or desert drear 
They quelled gigantic foe, 

Braved the fierce griffon in his ire, 

Or faced the dragon's breath of 
fire. 

Strange in their arms and strange 
in face, 

Heroes they seemed of ancient 
race, 

Whose deeds of arms and race 
and name, 

Forgotten long by later fame, 390 
Were here depicted to appall 

Those of an age degenerate 

Whose bold intrusion braved their 
fate 
In this enchanted hall. 

For some short space the ventur- 
ous knight 

With these high marvels fed his 
sight, 

Then sought the chamber's upper 
end 

Where three broad easy steps as- 
cend 
To an arched portal door, 

In whose broad folding leaves of 
state 400 

Was framed a wicket window- 
grate ; 
And ere he ventured more, 

The gallant knight took earnest 
view 

The grated wicket - window 
through. 

xx 

0, for his arms ! Of martial weed 
Had never mortal knight such 

need! — 
He spied a stately gallery ; all 
Of snow-white marble was the 

wall, 
The vaulting, and the floor; 409 
And, contrast strange! on either 

hand 



CANTO THIRD 



413 



There stood arrayed in sable band 

Four maids whom Afric bore ; 
And each a Lybian tiger led, 
Held by as bright and frail a 
thread 
As Lucy's golden hair. 
For the leash that bound these 
monsters dread 
Was but of gossamer. 
Each maiden's short barbaric 

vest 
Left all unclosed the knee and 
breast 
And limbs of shapely jet ; 420 
White was their vest and turban's 

fold, 
On arms and ankles rings of gold 

In savage pomp were set ; 
A quiver on their shoulders lay, 
And in their hand an assagay. 
Such and so silent stood they 
there 
That Roland wellnigh hoped 
He saw a band of statues rare, 
Stationed the gazer's soul to scare ; 
But when the wicket oped 430 
Each grisly beast 'gan upward 

draw, 
Rolled his grim eye, and spread 

his claw, 
Scented the air, and licked his 

jaw: 
While these weird maids in Moor- 
ish tongue 
A wild and dismal warning sung. 

XXI 

* Rash adventurer, bear thee back ! 

Dread the spell of Dahomay ! 
Fear the race of Zaharak ; 
Daughters of the burning day ! 

* When the whirlwind's gusts are 

wheeling, 440 

Ours it is the dance to braid ; 
Zarah's sands in pillars reeling 

Join the measure that we tread, 
When the Moon has donned her 
cloak 
And the stars are red to see, 



Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc, 
Music meet for such as we. 

1 Where the shattered columns lie, 

Showing Carthage once had 
been, 
If the wandering Santon's eye 450 

Our mysterious rites hath seen, — 
Oft he cons the prayer of death, 

To the nations preaches doom, 
"AzraeFs brand hath left the 
sheath ! 

Moslems, think upon the tomb ! " 

' Ours the scorpion, ours the snake, 

Ours the hydra of the fen, 
Ours the tiger of the brake, 

All that plague the sons of men. 

Ours the tempest's midnight 

wrack, 460 

Pestilence that wastes by day — 
Dread the race of Zaharak ! 

Fear the spell of Dahomay ! ' 

XXII 

Uncouth and strange the accents 
shrill 
Rung those vaulted roofs among, 

Long it was ere faint and still 
Died the far-resounding song. 

While yet the distant echoes roll, 

The warrior communed with his 
soul. 
* When first I took this ventur- 
ous quest, 470 
I swore upon the rood 

Neither to stop nor turn nor rest, 
For evil or for good. 

My forward path too well I ween 

Lies yonder fearful ranks be- 
tween; 

For man unarmed 'tis bootless 
hope 

With tigers and with fiends to 
cope — 

Yet, if I turn, what waits me there 

Save famine dire and fell de- 
spair? — 

Other conclusion let me try, 480 

Since, choose howe'er I list, I die. 



4H 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



Forward lies faith and knightly 

fame; 
Behind are perjury and shame. 
In life or death I hold my word ! ' 
With that he drew his trusty 

sword, 
Caught down a banner from the 

wall, 
And entered thus the fearful hall. 

XXIII 

On high each wayward maiden 

threw 
Her swarthy arm with wild hal- 
loo ! 489 
On either side a tiger sprung — 
Against the leftward foe he flung 
The ready banner to engage 
With tangling folds the brutal 

rage; 
The right-hand monster in mid air 
He struck so fiercely and so fair 
Through gullet and through spinal 

bone 
The trenchant blade hath sheerly 

gone. 
His grisly brethren ramped and 

yelled, 
But the slight leash their rage 

withheld, 
Whilst 'twixt their ranks the dan- 
gerous road 500 
Firmly though swift the champion 

strode. 
Safe to the gallery's bound he 

drew, 
Safe passed an open portal 

through ; 
And when against pursuit he flung 
The gate, judge if the echoes rung ! 
Onward his daring course he bore, 
While, mixed with dying growl 

and roar, 
Wild jubilee and loud hurra 
Pursued him on his venturous 

way. 

XXIV 

'Hurra, hurra! Our watch is 

done! 510 

We hail once more the tropic sun. 



Pallid beams of northern day, 
Farewell, farewell ! Hurra, hurra ! 

1 Five hundred years o'er this cold 

glen 
Hath the pale sun come round 

agen ; 
Foot of man till now hath ne'er 
Dared to cross the Hall of Fear. 

' Warrior ! thou whose dauntless 

heart 
Gives us from our ward to part, 
Be as strong in future trial 520 
Where resistance is denial. 

1 Now for Afric's glowing sky, 
Zwenga wide and Atlas high, 
Zaharak and Dahomay ! — 
Mount the winds ! Hurra, hurra ! ■ 

xxv 
The wizard song at distance died, 

As if in ether borne astray, 
While through waste halls and 

chambers wide 
The knight pursued his steady 

way 
Till to a lofty dome he came 530 
That flashed with such a brilliant 

flame 
As if the wealth of all the world 
Were there in rich confusion 

hurled. 
For here the gold in sandy heaps 
With duller earth incorporate 

sleeps ; 
Was there in ingots piled, and 

there 
Coined badge of empery it bare ; 
Yonder, huge bars of silver lay, 
Dimmed by the diamond's neigh- 
boring ray, 
Like the pale moon in morning 

day ; 540 

And in the midst four maidens 

stand, 
The daughters of some distant 

land. 
Their hue was of the dark-red dye 
That fringes oft a thunder sky ; 



CANTO THIRD 



415 



Their hands palmetto baskets 
bare, 

And cotton fillets bound their hair ; 

Slim was their form, their mien 
was shy, 

To earth they bent the humbled 
eye, 

Folded their arms, and suppliant 
kneeled, 

And thus their proffered gifts re- 
vealed. 550 

XXVI 
CHORUS 

1 See the treasures Merlin piled, 
Portion meet for Arthur's child. 
Bathe in Wealth's unbounded 

stream, 
Wealth that Avarice ne'er could 

dream ! ' 

FIRST MAIDEN 

* See these clots of virgin gold ! 
Severed from the sparry mould, 
Nature's mystic alchemy 

In the mine thus bade them lie ; 
And their orient smile can win 
Kings to stoop and saints to sin.' 

SECOND MAIDEN 

* See these pearls that long have 

slept; 561 

These were tears by Naiads wept 
For the loss of Marinel. 
Tritons in the silver shell 
Treasured them till hard and 

white 
As the teeth of Amphitrite.' 

THIRD MAIDEN 

' Does a livelier hue delight? 
Here are rubies blazing bright, 
Here the emerald's fairy green, 
And the topaz glows between ; 
Here their varied hues unite 
In the changeful chrysolite.' 572 

FOURTH MAIDEN 

1 Leave these gems of poorer shine, 
Leave them all and look on mine ! 



While their glories I expand 
Shade thine eyebrows with thy 

hand. 
Mid-day sun and diamond's blaze 
Blind the rash beholder's gaze.' 

CHORUS 

1 Warrior, seize the splendid store ; 
Would 'twere all our mountains 
bore ! 580 

We should ne'er in future story 
Bead, Peru, thy perished glory ! ' 

xxvn 

Calmly and unconcerned the 

knight 
Waved aside the treasures 

bright — 
' Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray ! 
Bar not thus my destined way. 
Let these boasted brilliant toys 
Braid the hair of girls and boys ! 
Bid your streams of gold expand 
O'er proud London's thirsty land. 
De Vaux of wealth saw never 

need 591 

Save to purvey him arms and 

steed, 
And all the ore he deigned to 

hoard 
Inlays his helm and hilts his 

sword.' 
Thus gently parting from their 

hold, 
He left unmoved the dome of gold. 

XXVIII 

And now the morning sun was 

high, 
De Vaux was weary, faint, and 

dry; 
When, lo! a plashing sound he 

hears, 599 

A gladsome signal that he nears 

Some frolic water-run : 
And soon he reached a courtyard 

square 
Where, dancing in the sultry air, 
Tossed high aloft a fountain fair 

Was sparkling in the sun. 
On right and left a fair arcade 



416 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



In long perspective view displayed 
Alleys and bowers for sun or 
shade : 
But full in front a door, 
Low-browed and dark, seemed as 
it led 610 

To the lone dwelling of the dead 
Whose memory was no more. 

XXIX 

Here stopped De Vaux an instant's 

space 

To bathe his parched lips and face, 

And marked with well-pleased 

eye, 

Refracted on the fountain stream, 

In rainbow hues the dazzling beam 

Of that gay summer sky. 
His senses felt a mild control, 
Like that which lulls the weary 
soul, 620 

From contemplation high 
Relaxing, when the ear receives 
The music that the greenwood 
leaves 
Make to the breezes' sigh. 

XXX 

And oft in such a dreamy mood 

The half-shut eye can frame 
Fair apparitions in the wood, 
As if the Nymphs of field and 
flood 
In gay procession came. 629 
Are these of such fantastic mould, 
Seen distant down the fair ar- 
cade, 
These maids enlinked in sister- 
fold, 
Who, late at bashful distance 

staid, 
Now tripping from the green- 
wood shade, 
Nearer the musing champion draw 
And in a pause of seeming awe 
Again stand doubtful now ? — 
Ah, that sly pause of witching 

powers ! 
That seems to say, ' To please be 
ours, 
Be yours to tell us how.' 640 



Their hue was of the golden glow 
That suns of Candahar bestow, 
O'er which in slight suffusion flows 
A frequent tinge of paly rose ; 
Their limbs were fashioned fair 

and free 
In nature's justest symmetry; 
And, wreathed with flowers, with 

odors graced, 
Their raven ringlets reached the 

waist : 648 

In eastern pomp its gilding pale 
The henna lent each shapely nail, 
And the dark sumah gave the eye 
More liquid and more lustrous dye. 
The spotless veil of misty lawn, 
In studied disarrangement drawn 

The form and bosom o'er, 
To win the eye or tempt the touch 
For modesty showed all too 

much — 
Too much — yet promised more. 

XXXI 

' Gentle knight, awhile delay/ 
Thus they sung, 'thy toilsome 

way, 660 

While we pay the duty due 
To our Master and to you. 
Over Avarice, over Fear, 
Love triumphant led thee here ; 
Warrior, list to us, for we 
Are slaves to Love, are friends to 

thee. 
Though no treasured gems have 

we 
To proffer on the bended knee, 
Though we boast nor arm nor 

heart 
For the assagay or dart, 670 

Swains allow each simple girl . 
Ruby lip and teeth of pearl ; 
Or, if dangers more you prize, 
Flatterers find them in our eyes. 

' Stay, then, gentle warrior, stay, 
Rest till evening steal on day; 
Stay, O, stay ! — in yonder bowers 
We will braid thy locks with flow- 
ers, 678 
Spread the feast and fill the wine, 



CANTO THIRD 



417 



Charm thy ear with sounds divine, 
Weave our dances till delight 681 
Yield to languor, day to night. 
Then shall she you most approve 
Sing the lays that best you love, 
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread, 
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head, 
Till the weary night be o'er — 
Gentle warrior, wouldst thou more ? 
Wouldst thou more, fair warrior, — 
she 689 

Is slave to Love and slave to thee' 

XXXII 

0, do not hold it for a crime 
In the bold hero of my rhyme, 
For Stoic look 
And meet rebuke 
He lacked the heart or time ; 
As round the band of sirens trip, 
He kissed one damsel's laughing 

lip, 
And pressed another's proffered 

hand, 
Spoke to them all in accents bland, 
But broke their magic circle 

through ; 700 

1 Kind maids,' he said, ■ adieu, 

adieu ! 
My fate, my fortune, forward lies,' 
He said and vanished from their 

eyes; 
But, as he dared that darksome 

way, 
Still heard behind their lovely lay : 
1 Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart! 
Go where the feelings of the heart 
With the warm pulse in concord 

move ; 
Go where Virtue sanctions Love ! ' 

XXXIII 

Downward De Vaux through 
darksome ways 710 

And ruined vaults has gone, 
Till issue from their wildered 
maze 
Or safe retreat seemed none, 
And e'en the dismal path he 
strays 
Grew worse as he went on. 



For cheerful sun, for living air, 
Foul vapors rise and mine-fires 

glare, 
Whose fearful light the dangers 

showed 

That dogged him on that dreadful 

road. 719 

Deep pits and lakes of waters dun 

They showed, but showed not how 

to shun. 
These scenes of desolate despair, 
These smothering clouds of poi- 
soned air, 
How gladly had De Vaux ex- 
changed, 
Though 't were to face yon tigers 
ranged ! 
Xay, soothful bards have said, 
So perilous his state seemed now 
He wished him under arbor bough 

With Asia's willing maid. 
When, joyful sound! at distance 
near 730 

A trumpet fl ourished loud and clear, 
And as it ceased a lofty lay 
Seemed thus to chide his lagging 
way. 

XXXIV 

* Son of Honor, theme of story, 
Think on the reward before ye ! 
Danger, darkness, toil despise ; 
'T is Ambition bids thee rise. 

' He that would her heights ascend, 
Many a weary step must wend ; 
Hand and foot and knee he tries ; 
Thus Ambition's minions rise. 741 

' Lag not now, though rough the 
way, 

Fortune's mood brooks no delay ; 

Grasp the boon that's spread be- 
fore ye, 

Monarch's power and Conqueror's 
glory ! ■ 

It ceased. Advancing on the 

sound, 
A steep ascent the wanderer found, 
And then a turret stair : 



4i8 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



Nor climbed he far its steepy 
round 
Till fresher blew the air, 750 
And next a welcome glimpse was 

given 
That cheered him with the light 
of heaven. 
At length his toil had won 
A lofty hall with trophies dressed, 
Where as to greet imperial guest 
Four maidens stood whose crim- 
son vest 
Was bound with golden zone. 

XXXV 

Of Europe seemed the damsels all ; 
The first a nymph of lively Gaul 
Whose easy step and laughing eye 
Her borrowed air of awe belie ; 

The next a maid of Spain, 762 
Dark-eyed, dark-haired, sedate yet 

bold; 
White ivory skin and tress of gold 
Her shy and bashful comrade told 

For daughter of Almaine. 
These maidens bore a royal robe, 
With crown, with sceptre, and 
with globe, 
Emblems of empery ; 
The fourth a space behind them 
stood, 770 

And leant upon a harp in mood 

Of minstrel ecstasy. 
Of merry England she, in dress 
Like ancient British Druidess, 
Her hair an azure fillet bound, 
Her graceful vesture swept the 
ground, 
And in her hand displayed 
A crown did that fourth maiden 

hold, 
But unadorned with gems and 
gold, 
Of glossy laurel made. 780 

XXXVI 

At once to brave De Vaux knelt 

down 
These foremost maidens three, 
And proffered sceptre, robe, and 

crown, 



Liegedom and seignorie 

O'er many a region wide and fair, 

Destined, they said, for Arthur's 

heir ; 

But homage would he none : — 

1 Rather,' he said, 4 De Vaux would 

ride, 
A warden of the Border-side 
In plate and mail than, robed in 
pride, 790 

A monarch's empire own ; 
Rather, far rather, would he be 
A free-born knight of England free 

Than sit on despot's throne.' 
So passed he on, when that fourth 
maid, 
As starting from a trance, 
Upon the harp her finger laid ; 
Her magic touch the chords 
obeyed, 
Their soul awaked at once ! 799 



SONG OF THE FOURTH MAIDEN 

4 Quake to your foundations deep, 
Stately towers, and bannered keep, 
Bid your vaulted echoes moan, 
As the dreaded step they own. 

' Fiends, that wait on Merlin's 

spell, 
Hear the foot-fall ! mark it well ! 
Spread your dusky wings abroad, 
Boune ye for your homeward road ! 

' It is His, the first who e'er 
Dared the dismal Hall of Fear ; 
His, who hath the snares defied 
Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and 
Pride. 81 1 

' Quake to your foundations deep, 
Bastion huge, and turret steep ! 
Tremble, keep ! and totter, tower ! 
This is Gyneth's waking hour.' 

XXXVII 

Thus while she sung the venturous 

knight 
Has reached a bower where milder 

light 



CANTO THIRD 



419 



Through crimson curtains fell ; 
Such softened shade the hill re- 
ceives, 
Her purple veil when twilight 
leaves 820 

Upon its western swell. 
That bower, the gazer to bewitch, 
Had wondrous store of rare and 
rich 
As e'er was seen with eye ; 
For there by magic skill, I wis, 
Form of each thing that living is 

Was limned in proper dye. 
All seemed to sleep — the timid 

hare 
On form, the stag upon his lair, 
The eagle in her eyrie fair 830 

Between the earth and sky, 
But what of pictured rich and 

rare 
Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, 

where, 
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair, 

He saw King Arthur's child! 
Doubt and anger and dismay 
From her brow had passed away, 
Forgot was that fell tourney-day, 

For as she slept she smiled : 
It seemed that the repentant Seer 
Her sleep of many a hundred year 
With gentle dreams beguiled. 842 

XXXVIII 

That form of maiden loveliness, 
'Twixt childhood and 'twixt 

youth, 
That ivory chair, that sylvan dress, 
The arms and ankles bare, express 

Of Lyulph's tale the truth. 
Still upon her garment's hem 
Vanoc's blood made purple gem, 
And the warder of command 850 
Cumbered still her sleeping hand ; 
Still her dark locks dishevelled 

flow 
From net of pearl o'er breast of 

snow ; 
And so fair the slumberer seems 
That De Vaux impeached his 

dreams, 



Vapid all and void of might, 
Hiding half her charms from sight. 
Motionless awhile he stands, 
Folds his arms and clasps his 

hands, 
Trembling in his fitful joy, 860 
Doubtful how he should destroy 

Long-enduring spell ; 
Doubtful too, when slowly rise 
Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth's eyes, 

What these eyes shall tell. — 
1 Saint George ! Saint Mary ! can 

it be 
That they will kindly look on 



me 



XXXIX 



Gently, lo ! the warrior kneels, 
Soft that lovely hand he steals, 
Soft to kiss and soft to clasp — 870 
But the warder leaves her grasp; 
Lightning flashes, rolls the thun- 
der! 
Gyneth startles from her sleep, 
Totters tower, and trembles keep, 
Burst the castle-walls asutnder ! 
Fierce and frequent were the 
shocks, — 
Melt the magic halls away ; — 
But beneath their mystic rocks, 
In the arms of bold De Vaux 

Safe the princess lay ; 880 

Safe and free from magic power, 
Blushing like the rose's flower 

Opening to the day ; 
And round the champion's brows 

were bound 
The crown that Druidess had 
wound 
Of the green laurel-bay. 
And this was what remained of 

all 
The wealth of each enchanted 
hall, 
The Garland and the Dame : 
But where should warrior seek 
the meed 890 

Due to high worth for daring 
deed 
Except from Love and Fame ! 



420 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN 



CONCLUSION 



My Lucy, when the maid is won 
The minstrel's task, thou know'st, 
is done; 
And to require of bard 
That to his dregs the tale should 
run 
Were ordinance too hard. 
Our lovers, briefly be it said, 
Wedded as lovers wont to wed, 

When tale or play is o'er ; 
Lived long and blest, loved fond 

and true, 
And saw a numerous race renew 10 

The honors that they bore. 
Know too that when a pilgrim 

strays 
In morning mist or evening maze 

Along the mountain lone, 
That fairy fortress often mocks 
His gaze upon the castled rocks 

Of the valley of Saint John ; 
But never man since brave De 
Vaux 
The charmed portal won. 
'T is now a vain illusive show 20 
That melts whene'er the sunbeams 
glow, 
Or the fresh breeze hath blown. 

11 

But see, my love, where far below 
Our lingering wheels are moving 
slow, 
The whiles, up-gazing still, 



Our menials eye our steepy way, 
Marvelling perchance what whim 

can stay 
Our steps when eve is sinking 

gray 
On this gigantic hill. 
So think the vulgar — Life and 

time 30 

Ring all their joys in one dull 

chime 
Of luxury and ease ; 
And O, beside these simple knaves, 
How many better born are slaves 

To such coarse joys as these, 
Dead to the nobler sense that 

glows 
When nature's grander scenes un- 
close ! 
But, Lucy, we will love them yet, 
The mountain's misty coronet, 

The greenwood and the wold ; 40 
And love the more that of their 

maze 
Adventure high of other days 

By ancient bards is told, 
Bringing perchance, like my poor 

tale, 
Some moral truth in fiction's veil •. 
Nor love them less that o'er the 

hill 
The evening breeze as now comes 

chill ; - 
My love shall wrap her warm, 
And, fearless of the slippery way 
While safe she trips the heathy 

brae, 50 

Shall hang on Arthur's arm. 



CANTO FIRST 421 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS 



ADVERTISEMENT 



The Scene of this Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish, on the coast 
of Argyleshire ; and, afterwards, in the Islands of Skye and Arran, and upon 
the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story opens in the 
spring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of Scotland by the 
English, and the Barons who adhered to that foreign interest, returned from 
the Island of Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the 
Scottish crown. Many of the personages and incidents introduced are of his- 
torical celebrity. The authorities used are chiefly those of the venerable 
Lord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as 
Bruce the restorer of Scottish Monarchy ; and of Archdeacon Barbour ; a cor- 
rect edition of whose Metrical History of Robert Bruce will soon, I trust, appear, 
under the care of my learned friend, the Rev. Dr. Jamieson. 

Abbotspord, 10^ December, 1814. 



CANTO FIRST 



Autumn departs — but still his mantle's fold 
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville, 
Beneath a shroud of russet drooped with gold 
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still ; 
Hoarser the wind and deeper sounds the rill, 
Yet liugering notes of sylvan music swell, 
The deep-toned cushat and the redbreast shrill; 
And yet some tints of summer splendor tell 
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell. 

Autumn departs — from Gala's fields no more 
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer ; 
Blent with the stream and gale that wafts it o'er, 
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. 
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear, 
And harvest-home hath hushed the clanging wain, 
On the waste hill no forms of life appear, 
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train, 
Some age- struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattered grain. 

Deem'st thou these saddened scenes have pleasure still, 

Lov'st thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray, 

To see the heath-flower withered on the hill, 

To listen to the woods' expiring lay, 

To note the red leaf shivering on the spray, 

To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain, 



422 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way, 
And moralize on mortal joy and pain ? — 
O, if such scenes thou lov'st, scorn not the minstrel strain! 

No ! do not scorn, although its hoarser note 
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie, 
Though faint its beauties as the tints remote 30 

That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky 
And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry, 
"When wild November hath his bugle wound ; 
Nor mock my toil — a lonely gleaner I 
Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound 
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found. 

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved, 
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day ; 
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved, 
Still live some relics of the ancient lay. 4° 

For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay, 
With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles ; 
>T is known amid the pathless wastes of Reay, 
In Harries known and in Iona's piles, 
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles. 



4 Wake, Maid of Lorn ! ' the min- 
strels sung. — 
Thy rugged halls, Artornish, rung, 
And the dark seas thy towers that 

lave 
Heaved on the beach a softer 

wave, 49 

As mid the tuneful choir to keep 
The diapason of the deep. 
Lulled were the winds on Innin- 

more 
And green Loch-Alline's woodland 

shore, 
As if wild woods and waves had 

pleasure 
In listing to the lovely measure. 
And ne'er to symphony more sweet 
Gave mountain echoes answer 

meet 
Since, met from mainland and from 

isle, 
Ross, Arran, Islay, and Argyle, 
Each minstrel's tributary lay 60 
Paid homage to the festal day. 
Dull and dishonored were the 

bard, 



Worthless of guerdon and regard, 
Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame, 
Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim, 
Who on that morn's resistless 

call 
Was silent in Artornish hall. 

11 

' Wake, Maid of Lorn ! ' — 't was 

thus they sung, 
And yet more proud the descant 

rung, 
4 Wake, Maid of Lorn ! high right 

is ours 70 

To charm dull sleep from Beauty's 

bowers : 
Earth, ocean, air, have naught so 

shy 
But owns the power of minstrelsy. 
In Lettermore the timid deer 
Will pause the harp's wild chime 

to hear ; 
Rude Heiskar's seal through 

surges dark 
Will long pursue the minstrel's 

bark ; 
To list his notes the eagle proud 



CANTO FIRST 



423 



Will poise him on Ben-Cailliach's 
cloud ; 

Then let not maiden's ear dis- 
dain 80 

The summons of the minstrel train, 

But while our harps wild music 
make, 

Edith of Lorn, awake, awake ! 

in 

4 wake while Dawn with dewy 
shine 

Wakes Nature's charms to vie 
with thine ! 

She bids the mottled thrush re- 
joice 

To mate thy melody of voice ; 

The dew that on the violet lies 

Mocks the dark lustre of thine 
eyes; 

But, Edith, wake, and all we see 

Of sweet and fair shall yield to 
thee!'— 9 1 

* She comes not yet,' gray Ferrand 

cried ; 

* Brethren, let softer spell he tried, 
Those notes prolonged, that sooth- 

ing theme, 
Which best may mix with Beauty's 

dream, 
And whisper with their silvery 

tone 
The hope she loves yet fears to 

own.' 
He spoke, and on the harp-strings 

died 
The strains of flattery and of 

pride ; 
More soft, more low, more tender 

fell 100 

The lay of love he bade them tell. 

rv 

1 Wake, Maid of Lorn! the mo- 
ments fly 
Which yet that maiden - name 
allow ; 
Wake, Maiden, wake ! the hour is 
nigh 
When love shall claim a plighted 
vow. 



By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering 
guest, 
By Hope, that soon shall fears 
remove, 
We bid thee break the bonds of 
rest, 
And wake thee at the call of 
Love! 

' Wake, Edith, wake ! in yonder 
bay no 

Lies many a galley gayly man- 
ned, 
We hear the merry pibroch's play, 
We see the streamers' silken 
band. 
What chieftain's praise these pi- 
brochs swell, 
What crest is on these banners 
wove, 
The harp, the minstrel, dare not 
tell — 
The riddle must be read by 
Love.* 



Retired her maiden train among, 
Edith of Lorn received the song, 
But tamed the minstrel's pride 

had been 120 

That had her cold demeanor seen ; 
For not upon her cheek awoke 
The glow of pride when Flattery 

spoke, 
Nor could their tenderest numbers 

bring 
One sigh responsive to the string. 
As vainly had her maidens vied 
In skill to deck the princely bride. 
Her locks in dark-brown length 

arrayed, 
Cathleen of Ulne, t was thine to 

braid ; 
Young Eva with meet reverence 

drew 130 

On the light foot the silken shoe, 
While on the ankle's slender round 
Those strings of pearl fair Bertha 

wound 
That, bleached Lochryan's depths 

within, 



424 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Seemed dusky still on Edith's skin. 
But Einion, of experience old, 
Had weightiest task — the man- 
tle's fold 
In many an artful plait she tied 
To show the form it seemed to 

hide, 
Till on the floor descending rolled 
Its waves of crimson blent with 
gold. 141 

VI 

O, lives there now so cold a maid, 
Who thus in beauty's pomp ar- 
rayed, 
In beauty's proudest pitch of 

power, 
And conquest won — the bridal 

hour — 
With every charm that wins the 

heart, 
By Nature given, enhanced by 

Art, 
Could yet the fair reflection view 
In the bright mirror pictured true, 
And not one dimple on her cheek 
A telltale consciousness be- 
speak? — 151 
Lives still such maid ? — Fair dam- 
sels, say, 
For further vouches not my lay 
Save that such lived in Britain's 

isle 
When Lorn's bright Edith scorned 
to smile. 

VII 

But Morag, to whose fostering 

care 
Proud Lorn had given his daugh- 
ter fair, 
Morag, who saw a mother's aid 
By all a daughter's love repaid — 
Strict was that bond, most kind of 
all, 160 

Inviolate in Highland hall — 
Gray Morag sate a space apart, 
In Edith's eyes to read her heart. 
In vain the attendant's fond ap- 
peal 
To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal ; 



She marked her child receive their 
care, 

Cold as the image sculptured 
fair — 

Form of some sainted patroness — 

Which cloistered maids combine 
to dress ; 

She marked — and knew her nurs- 
ling's heart 170 

In the vain pomp took little part. 

Wistful awhile she gazed — then 
pressed 

The maiden to her anxious breast 

In finished loveliness — and led 

To where a turret's airy head, 

Slender and steep and battled 
round, 

O'erlooked, dark Mull, thy mighty 
Sound, 

Where thwarting tides with min- 
gled roar 

Part thy swarth hills from Mor- 
en's shore. 

VIII 

'Daughter,' she said, * these seas 
behold, 180 

Round twice a hundred islands 
rolled, 

From Hirt that hears their north- 
ern roar 

To the green Hay's fertile shore ; 

Or mainland turn where many a 
tower 

Owns thy bold brother's feudal 
power, 

Each on its own dark cape re- 
clined 

And listening to its own wild wind, 

From where Mingarry sternly 
placed 

O'erawes the woodland and the 
waste, 

To where Dunstaffnage hears the 
raging 190 

Of Connal with its rocks engaging. 

Think'st thou amid this ample 
round 

A single brow but thine has 
frowned, 

To sadden this auspicious morn 



CANTO FIRST 



425 



That bids the daughter of high 

Lorn 
Impledge her spousal faith to wed 
The heir of mighty Somerled ? 
Ronald, from many a hero sprung, 
The fair, the valiant, and the 

young, 
Lord of the Isles, whose lofty 

name 200 

A thousand bards have given to 

fame, 
The mate of monarchs, and allied 
On equal terms with England's 

pride, — 
From chieftain's tower to bonds- 
man's cot, 
Who hears the tale, and triumphs 

not? 
The damsel dons her best attire, 
The shepherd lights his beltane 

fire, 
Joy! joy! each warder's horn hath 

sung, 
Joy! joy! each matin bell hath 

rung ; 209 

The holy priest says grateful mass, 
Loud shouts each hardy galla- 

glass, 
No mountain den holds outcast 

boor 
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor, 
But he hath flung his task aside, 
And claimed this morn for holy- 
tide; 
Yet, empress of this joyful day, 
Edith is sad while all are gay.' 

IX 

Proud Edith's soul came to her 

eye, 
Resentment checked the struggling 

sigh. 219 

Her hurrying hand indignant dried 
The burning tears of injured 

pride — 
* Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise 
To swell yon hireling harpers' lays ; 
Make to yon maids thy boast of 

power, 
That they may waste a wondering 

hour 



Telling of banners proudly borne, 
Of pealing bell and bugle horn, 
Or, theme more dear, of robes of 

price, 
Crownlets and gauds of rare device. 
But thou, experienced as thou art, 
Think' st thou with these to cheat 

the heart 23 1 

That, bound in strong affection's 

chain, 
Looks for return and looks in vain ? 
No! sum thine Edith's wretched 

lot 
In these brief words — He loves 

her not ! 



' Debate it not — too long I strove 
To call his cold observance love, 
All blinded by the league that 

styled 
Edith of Lorn — while yet a child 
She tripped the heath by Morag's 

side — 240 

The brave Lord Ronald's destined 

bride. 
Ere yet I saw him, while afar 
His broadsword blazed in Scot- 
land's war, 
Trained to believe our fates the 

same, 
My bosom throbbed when Ronald's 

name 
Came gracing Fame's heroic tale, 
Like perfume on the summer gale. 
What pilgrim sought our halls nor 

told 
Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold ; 
Who touched the harp to heroes' 

praise 250 

But his achievements swelled the 

lays ? 
Even Morag — not a tale of fame 
Was hers but closed with Ronald's 

name. 
He came ! and all that had been 

told 
Of his high worth seemed poor and 

cold, 
Tame, lifeless, void of energy, 
Unjust to Ronald and to me ! 



426 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



XI 

'Since then, what thought had 

Edith's heart 
And gave not plighted love its 

part ! — 259 

And what requital? cold delay — 
Excuse that shunned the spousal 

day.— 
It dawns and Ronald is not 

here! — 
Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer, 
Or loiters he in secret dell 
To bid some lighter love farewell, 
And swear that though he may not 

scorn 
A daughter of the House of Lorn, 
Yet, when these formal rites are 

o'er, 
Again they meet to part no more ? » 

XII 

* Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts 

remove, 270 

More nobly think of Ronald's love. 
Look, where beneath the castle 

gray 
His fleet unmoor from Aros bay ! 
See'st not each galley's topmast 

bend 
As on the yards the sails ascend ? 
Hiding the dark-blue land they 

rise, 
Like the white clouds on April 

skies ; 
The shouting vassals man the 

oars, 
Behind them sink Mull's mountain 

shores, 
Onward their merry course they 

keep 280 

Through whistling breeze and 

foaming deep. 
And mark the headmost, seaward 

cast, 
Stoop to the freshening gale her 

mast, 
As if she veiled its bannered pride 
To greet afar her prince's bride ! 
Thy Ronald comes, and while in 

speed 
His galley mates the flying steed, 



He chides her sloth ! ' — Fair Edith 

sighed, 
Blushed, sadly smiled, and thus 

replied : 

XIII 

'Sweet thought, but vain! — No, 

Morag! mark, 290 

Type of his course, yon lonely bark, 
That oft hath shifted helm and 

sail 
To win its way against the gale. 
Since peep of morn my vacant 

eyes 
Have viewed by fits the course she 

tries ; 
Now, though the darkening scud 

comes on, 
And dawn's fair promises be gone, 
And though the weary crew may 

see 
Our sheltering haven on their lee, 
Still closer to the rising wind 300 
They strive her shivering sail to 

bind, 
Still nearer to the shelves' dread 

verge 
At every tack her course they urge, 
As if they feared Artornish more 
Than adverse winds and breakers' 

roar.' 

XIV 

Sooth spoke the maid. Amid the 

tide 

The skiff she marked lay tossing 

sore, 

And shifted oft her stooping side, 

In weary tack from shore to 

shore. 
Yet on her destined course no 
more 310 

She gained of forward way 
Than what a minstrel may com- 
pare 
To the poor meed which peasants 
share 
Who toil the livelong day ; 
And such the risk her pilot 
braves 
That oft, before she wore, 



CANTO FIRST 



427 



Her boltsprit kissed the broken 

waves 
Where in white foam the ocean 
raves 
Upon the shelving shore. 
Yet, to their destined purpose 
true, 3 2 ° 

Undaunted toiled her hardy 
crew, 
Nor looked where shelter lay, 
Nor for Artornish Castle drew, 
Nor steered for Aros bay. 

xv 
Thus while they strove with wind 

and seas, 
Borne onward by the willing 
breeze, 
Lord Ronald's fleet swept by, 
Streamered with silk and tricked 

with gold, 
Manned with the noble and the 
bold 
Of Island chivalry. 330 

Around their prows the ocean 

roars, 
And chafes beneath their thousand 
oars, 
Yet bears them on their way : 
So chafes the war-horse in his 

might 
That fieldward bears some valiant 

knight, 
Champs till both bit and boss are 
white, 
But foaming must obey. 
On each gay deck they might be- 
hold 
Lances of steel and crests of gold, 
And hauberks with their burnished 
fold 340 

That shimmered fair and free ; 
And each proud galley as she 

passed 
To the wild cadence of the blast 

Gave wilder minstrelsy. 
Full many a shrill triumphant note 
Saline and Scallastle bade float 

Their misty shores around ; 
And Morven's echoes answered 
well, 348 



And Duart heard the distant swell 
Come down the darksome Sound. 

XVI 

So bore they on with mirth and 

pride, 
And if that laboring bark they 

spied, 
'T was with such idle eye 
As nobles cast on lowly boor 
When, toiling in his task obscure, 

They pass him careless by. 
Let them sweep on with heedless 

eyes ! 
But had they known what mighty 

prize 
In that frail vessel lay, 
The famished wolf that prowls the 

wold 360 

Had scathless passed the un- 

guarded fold, 
Ere, driftiug by these galleys bold, 

Unchallenged were her way ! 
And thou, Lord Ronald, sweep 

thou on 
With mirth and pride and minstrel 

tone! 
But hadst thou known who sailed 

so nigh, 
Far other glance were in thine 

eye ! 
Far other flush were on thy brow, 
That, shaded by the bonnet, now 
Assumes but ill the blithesome 

cheer 370 

Of bridegroom when the bride is 

near! 

XVII 

Yes, sweep they on I — We will not 

leave, 
For them that triumph, those who 

grieve. 
With that armada gay 
Be laughter loud and jocund shout, 
And bards to cheer the wassail 

rout 
With tale, romance, and lay ; 
And of wild mirth each clamorous 

art, 
Which, if it cannot cheer the heart, 



428 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



May stupefy and stun its smart 380 

For one loud busy day. 
Yes, sweep they on! — But with 
that skiff 
Abides the minstrel tale, 
Where there was dread of surge 

and cliff, 
Labor that strained each sinew 
stiff. 
And one sad maiden's wail. 

XVIII 

All day with fruitless strife they 

toiled, 
With eve the ebbing currents 

boiled 
More fierce from strait and lake ; 
And midway through the channel 

met 390 

Conflicting tides that foam and 

fret, 
And high their mingled billows 

jet, 
As spears that in the battle set 
Spring upward as they break. 
Then too the lights of eve were 

past, 
And louder sung the western blast 

On rocks of Inninmore ; 
Rent was the sail, and strained 

the mast, 
And many a leak was gaping fast, 
And the pale steersman stood 

aghast 400 

And gave the conflict o'er. 

XIX 

>T was then that One whose lofty 

look 
Nor labor dulled nor terror shook 

Thus to the leader spoke : — 
» Brother, how hop'st thou to 

abide 
The fury of this wildered tide, 
Or how avoid the rock's rude side 

Until the day has broke ? 
Didst thou not mark the vessel 

reel 
With quivering planks and groan- 
ing keel 410 
At the last billow's shock? 



Yet how of better counsel tell, 
Though here thou see'st poor 
Isabel 

Half dead with want and fear ; 
For look on sea, or look on land, 
Or yon dark sky, on every hand 

Despair and death are near. 
For her alone I grieve — on me 
Danger sits light by land and sea, 

I follow where thou wilt ; 420 
Either to bide the tempest's lour, 
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower, 
Or rush amid their naval power, 
With war-cry wake their wassail- 
hour, 

And die with hand on hilt.' 

xx 

That elder leader's calm reply 

In steady voice was given, 
' In man's most dark extremity 

Oft succor dawns from heaven. 

Edward, trim thou the shattered 

sail, 430 

The helm be mine, and down the 

gale 

Let our free course be driven ; 

So shall we 'scape the western 

bay, 
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray ; 
So safely hold our vessel's way 

Beneath the castJe wall ; 
For if a hope of safety rest, 
'T is on the sacred name of guest, 
Who seeks for shelter storm-dis- 
tressed 
Within a chieftain's hall. 440 
If not — it best beseems our 

worth, 
Our name, our right, our lofty 
birth, 
By noble hands to fall.' 

XXI 

The helm, to his strong arm con- 
signed, 

Gave the reefed sail to meet the 
wind, 
And on her altered way 

Fierce bounding forward sprung 
the ship, 



CANTO FIRST 



429 



Like greyhound starting from the 
slip 
To seize his flying prey. 
Awaked before the rushing 
prow 450 

The mimic fires of ocean glow, 

Those lightnings of the wave ; 
Wild sparkles crest the broken 

tides, 
And flashing round the vessel's 
sides 
With elfish lustre lave, 
While far behind their livid light 
To the dark billows of the night 

A gloomy splendor gave. 
It seems as if old Ocean shakes 
From his dark brow the lucid 
flakes 460 

In envious pageantry, 
To match the meteor-light that 
streaks 
Grim Hecla's midnight sky. 

XXII 

Nor lacked they steadier light to 

keep 
Their course upon the darkened 

deep; 
Artornish, on her frowning steep 

'Twixt cloud and ocean hung, 
Glanced with a thousand lights of 

glee, 
And landward far and far to sea 

Her festal radiance flung. 470 
By that blithe beacon-light they 
steered, 
Whose lustre mingled well 
With the pale beam that now ap- 
peared, 
As the cold moon her head up- 
reared 
Above the eastern felL 

XXIII 

Thus guided, on their course they 

bore 
Until they neared the mainland 

shore, 
When frequent on the hollow blast 
Wild shouts of merriment were 

cast, 



And wind and wave and sea-birds' 

cry 480 

With wassail sounds in concert 

vie, 
Like funeral shrieks with revelry, 

Or like the battle-shout 
By peasants heard from cliffs on 

high 
When Triumph, Kage, and Agony 

Madden the fight and rout. 
Now nearer yet through mist and 

storm 
Dimly arose the castle's form 

And deepened shadow made, 
Far lengthened on the main be- 
low, 490 
Where dancing in reflected glow 

A hundred torches played, 
Spangling the wave with lights as 

vain 
As pleasures in this vale of pain, 
That dazzle as they fade. 

xxiv 
Beneath the castle's sheltering lee 
They staid their course in quiet 

sea. 
Hewn in the rock, a passage there 
Sought the dark fortress by a 

stair, 
So strait, so high, so steep, 500 
With peasant's staff one valiant 

hand 
Might well the dizzy pass have 

manned 
'Gainst hundreds armed with 

spear and brand 
And plunged them in the deep. 
His bugle then the helmsman 

wound : 
Loud answered every echo round 

From turret, rock, arid bay ; 
The postern's hinges crash and 

groan, 
And soon the warder's cresset 

shone 
On those rude steps of slippery 

stone, 510 

To light the upward way. 
' Thrice welcome, holy Sire ! ' he 

said; 



430 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



• Full long the spousal train have 

staid. 
And, vexed at thy delay, 
Feared lest amidst these wildering 

seas 
The darksome night and freshen- 
ing breeze 
Had driven thy bark astray/ — 

xxv 

* Warder,' the younger stranger 

said, 
'Thine erring guess some mirth 

had made 
In mirthful hour ; but nights like 

these, 520 

When the rough winds wake west- 
ern seas, 
Brook not of glee. We crave some 

aid 
And needful shelter for this maid 

Until the break of day ; 
For to ourselves the deck's rude 

plank 
Is easy as the mossy bank 

That 's breathed upon by May. 
And for our storm-tossed skiff we 

seek 
Short shelter in this leeward 

creek, 
Prompt when the dawn the east 

shall streak 530 

Again to bear away.' 
Answered the warder, 'In what 

name 
Assert ye hospitable claim? 

Whence come or whither bound ? 
Hath Erin seen your parting sails, 
Or come ye on Norweyan gales ? 
And seek ye England's fertile 

vales, 
Or Scotland's mountain ground ? ' 

XXVI 

' Warriors — for other title none 
For some brief space we list to 

own, 540 

Bound by a vow — warriors are 

we; 
In strife by land and storm by sea 
We have been known to fame ; 



And these brief words have import 

dear, 
When sounded in a noble ear, 
To harbor safe and friendly cheer 

That gives us rightful claim. 
Grant us the trivial boon we seek, 
And we in other realms will speak 

Fair of your courtesy ; 550 

Deny — and be your niggard hold 
Scorned by the noble and the bold, 
Shunned by the pilgrim on the 
wold 

And wanderer on the lea ! ' 

XXVII 

'Bold stranger, no — 'gainst claim 

like thine 
No bolt revolves by hand of mine, 
Though urged in tone that more 

expressed 
A monarch than a suppliant guest. 
Be what ye will, Artornish Hall 
On this glad eve is free to all. 560 
Though ye had drawn a hostile 

sword 
'Gainst our ally, great England's 

Lord, 
Or mail upon your shoulders borne 
To battle with the Lord of Lorn, 
Or outlawed dwelt by greenwood 

tree 
With the fierce Knight of Ellers- 

lie, 
Or aided even the murderous 

strife 
When Comyn fell beneath the 

knife 
Of that fell homicide the Bruce, 
This night had been a term of 

truce. — • 570 

Ho, vassals! give these guests 

your care, 
And show the narrow postern 

stair.' 

XXVIII 

To land these two bold brethren 

leapt — 
The weary crew their vessel 

kept — 
And, lighted by the torches' flare 



CANTO FIRST 



431 



That seaward flung their smoky 

glare, 
The younger knight that maiden 
bare 
Half lifeless up the rock ; 
On his strong shoulder leaned her 

head, 
And down her long dark tresses 
shed, 580 

As the wild vine in tendrils spread 
Droops from the mountain oak. 
Him followed close that elder lord, 
And in his hand a sheathed sword 

Such as few arms could wield ; 
But when he bouned him to such 

task 
Well could it cleave the strongest 
casque 
And rend the surest shield. 

XXIX 

The raised portcullis' arch they 

pass, 
The wicket with its bars of brass, 
The entrance long and low, 591 
Flanked at each turn by loop-holes 

strait, 
Where bowmen might in ambush 

wait — 
If force or fraud should burst the 

gate — 
To gall an entering foe. 
But every jealous post of ward 
Was now defenceless and un- 
barred, 
And all the passage free 
To one low-browed and vaulted 

room 
Where squire and yeoman, page 

and groom, 600 

Plied their loud revelry. 

XXX 

And ' Rest ye here,' the warder 

bade, 
1 Till to our lord your suit is said. — 
And, comrades, gaze not on the 

maid 
And on these men who ask our 

aid, 
As if ye ne'er had seen 



A damsel tired of midnight bark 
Or wanderers of a moulding stark 

And bearing martial mien.' 
But not for Eachin's reproof 610 
Would page or vassal stand aloof, 

But crowded on to stare, 
As men of courtesy untaught, 
Till fiery Edward roughly caught 

From one the foremost there 
His chequered plaid, and in its 

shroud, 
To hide her from the vulgar crowd, 

Involved his sister fair. 
His brother, as the clansman bent 
His sullen brow in discontent, 620 

Made brief and stern excuse : 
'Vassal, were thine the cloak of 

pall 
That decks thy lord in bridal 
hall, 

*T were honored by her use.* 

XXXI 

Proud was his tone but calm ; his 

eye 
Had that compelling dignity, 
His mien that bearing naught and 
high, 

Which common spirits fear ; 
Needed nor word nor signal more, 
Nod, wink, and laughter, all were 
o'er ; 630 

Upon each other back they bore 

And gazed like startled deer. 
But now appeared the seneschal, 
Commissioned by his lord to call 
The strangers to the baron's hall, 

Where feasted fair and free 
That Island Prince in nuptial tide 
With Edith there his lovely bride, 
And her bold brother by her side, 
And many a chief, the flower and 
pride 640 

Of Western land and sea. 

Here pause we, gentles, for a 

space ; 
And, if our tale hath won your 

grace, 
Grant us brief patience and again 
We will renew the minstrel strain. 



43 2 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



CANTO SECOND 



Fill the bright goblet, spread 

the festive board ! 
Summon the gay, the noble, and 

the fair ! 
Through the loud hall in joyous 

concert poured, 
Let mirth and music sound the 

dirge of Care ! 
But ask thou not if Happiness 

be there, 
If the loud laugh disguise con- 
vulsive throe, 
Or if the brow the heart's true 

livery wear ; 
Lift not the festal mask! — 

enough to know, 
No scene of mortal life but teems 

with mortal woe. 

ii 

With beakers' clang, with harpers' 
lay, 10 

With all that olden time deemed 
gay, 

The Island Chieftain feasted high ; 

But there was in his troubled eye 

A gloomy fire, and on his brow 

Now sudden flushed and faded 
now 

Emotions such as draw their birth 

From deeper source than festal 
mirth. 

By fits he paused, and harper's 
strain 

And jester's tale went round in 
vain, 

Or fell but on his idle ear 20 

Like distant sounds which dream- 
ers hear. 

Then would he rouse him, and em- 
ploy 

Each art to aid the clamorous 
joy, 
And call for pledge and lay, 

And for brief space of all the 
crowd, 

As he was loudest of the loud, 
Seem gayest of the gay. 



in 

Yet naught amiss the bridal 

throng 
Marked in brief mirth or musing 

long; 
The vacant brow, the unlistening 

ear, 30 

They gave to thoughts of raptures 

near, 
And his fierce starts of sudden 

glee 
Seemed bursts of bridegroom's 

ecstasy. 
Nor thus alone misjudged the 

crowd, 
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud, 
And jealous of his honored line, 
And that keen knight, De Argen- 
tine — 
From England sent on errand 

high 
The western league more firm to 

tie — 
Both deemed in Ronald's mood to 

find 40 

A lover's transport-troubled mind. 
But one sad heart, one tearful eye, 
Pierced deeper through the mys- 
tery, 
And watched with agony and fear 
Her wayward bridegroom's varied 

cheer. 

IV 

She watched — yet feared to meet 

his glance, 
And he shunned hers ; — till when 

by chance 
They met, the point of foeman's 

lance 
Had given a milder pang ! 
Beneath the intolerable smart 50 
He writhed ; — then sternly manned 

his heart 
To play his hard but destined 

part, 
And from the table sprang. 
' Fill me the mighty cup, he said, 
' Erst owned by royal Somerledl 
Fill it, till on the studded brim 
In burning gold the bubbles swim, 



CANTO SECOND 



433 



And every gem of varied shine 
Glow doubly bright in rosy wine ! 
To you, brave lord, and brother 
mine, 60 

Of Lorn, this pledge I drink — 
The Union of Our House with 
thine, 
By this fair bridal-link ! ' 



1 Let it pass round ! ' quoth he of 

Lorn, 
4 And in good time — that winded 
horn 
Must of the abbot tell ; 
The laggard monk is come at last.' 
Lord Ronald heard the bugle- 
blast, 
And on the floor at random cast 

The untasted goblet fell. 70 

But when the warder in his ear 
Tells other news, his blither cheer 

Returns like sun of May 
"When through a thunder-cloud it 

beams ! — 
Lord of two hundred isles, he 
seems 
As glad of brief delay 
As some poor criminal might feel 
When from the gibbet or the 
wheel 
Respited for a day. 

VI 

'Brother of Lorn,' with hurried 
voice 80 

He said, * and you, fair lords, re- 
joice ! 
Here, to augment our glee, 

Come wandering knights from 
travel far, 

Well proved, they say, in strife of 
war 
And tempest on the sea. 

Ho ! give them at your board such 
place 

As best their presences may grace, 
And bid them welcome free I ' 

With solemn step and silver wand, 

The seneschal the presence 
scanned 90 



Of these strange guests, and well 

he knew 
How to assign their rank its due ; 

For though the costly furs 
That erst had decked their caps 

were torn, 
And their gay robes were over- 
worn, 
And soiled their gilded spurs, 
Yet such a high commanding grace 
Was in their mien and in their face 
As suited best the princely dais 

And royal canopy ; 100 

And there he marshalled them 
their place, 
First of that company. 

VII 

Then lords and ladies spake aside, 
And angry looks the error chide 
That gave to guests unnamed, un- 
known, 
A place so near their prince's 
throne; 
But Owen Erraught said, 
1 For forty years a seneschal, 
To marshal guests in bovver and 
hall 
Has been my honored trade, na 
Worship and birth to me are 

known, 
By look, by bearing, and by tone, 
Not by furred robe or broidered 
zone ; 
And 'gainst an oaken bough 
I '11 gage my silver wand of state 
That these three strangers oft 
have sate 
In higher place than now.' 

VIII 

' I too,' the aged Ferrand said, 
' Am qualified by minstrel trade 

Of rank and place to tell ; — 120 
Marked ye the younger stranger's 

eye, 
My mates, how quick, how keen, 
how high, 

How fierce its flashes fell, 
Glancing among the noble rout 
As if to seek the noblest out, 



434 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Because the owner might not 

brook 
On any save his peers to look? 

And yet it moves me more, 
That steady, calm, majestic brow, 
With which the elder chief even 
now 130 

Scanned the gay presence o'er, 
Like being of superior kind, 
In whose high-toned impartial 

mind 
Degrees of mortal rank and state 
Seem objects of indifferent weight. 
The lady too — though closely 
tied 
The mantle veil both face and 
eye, 
Her motions' grace it could not 
hide, 
Nor cloud her form's fair sym- 
metry.' 

IX 

Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn 
Loured on the haughty front of 

Lorn. 141 

From underneath his brows of 

pride 
The stranger guests he sternly 

eyed, 
And whispered closely what the 

ear 
Of Argentine alone might hear ; 

Then questioned, high and brief, 
If in their voyage aught they knew 
Of the rebellious Scottish crew 
Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew 
With Carrick's outlawed Chief? 
And if, their winter's exile o'er, 
They harbored still by Ulster's 

shore, 152 

Or launched their galleys on the 

main 
To vex their native land again ? 



That younger stranger, fierce and 

high, 
At once confronts the chieftain's 

eye 



With look of equal scorn : 
1 Of re bels have we naught to show ; 
But if of royal Bruce thou 'dst 

know, 
I warn thee he has sworn, 160 
Ere thrice three days shall come 

and go, 
His banner Scottish winds shall 

blow, 
Despite each mean or mighty 

foe, 
From England's every bill and bow 

To Allaster of Lorn.' 
Kindled the mountain chieftain's 

ire, 
But Ronald quenched the rising 

fire: 
1 Brother, it better suits the time 
To chase the night with Ferrand's 

rhyme 
Than wake midst mirth and wine 

the jars 170 

That flow from these unhappy 

wars.' 
'Content,' said Lorn; and spoke 

apart 
With Ferrand, master of his art, 

Then whispered Argentine, 
1 The lay I named will carry smart 
To these bold strangers' haughty 

heart, 
If right this guess of mine.' 
He ceased, and it was silence all 
Until the minstrel waked the hall. 



XI 



THE BROOCH OF LORN 

'Whence the brooch of burning 
gold 180 

That clasps the chieftain's mantle- 
fold, 
Wrought and chased with rare de- 
vice, 
Studded fair with gems of price, 
On the varied tartans beaming, 
As, through night's pale rainbow 

gleaming, 
Fainter now, now seen afar, 
Fitful shines the northern star ? 



CANTO SECOND 



435 



1 Gem ! ne'er wrought on Highland 

mountain, 
Did the fairy of the fountain 
Or the mermaid of the wave 190 
Frame thee in some coral cave ? 
Did, in Iceland's darksome mine, 
Dwarf's swart hands thy metal 

twine ? 
Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou 

here 
From England's love or France's 

fear? 

XII 
SONG CONTINUED 

4 No ! — thy splendors nothing tell 
Foreign art or faery spell. 
Moulded thou for monarch's use, 
By the overweening Bruce, 
When the royal robe he tied 200 
O'er a heart of wrath and pride ; 
Thence in triumph wert thou torn 
By the victor hand of Lorn ! 

'When the gem was won and 

lost, 
Widely was the war-cry tossed ! 
Rung aloud Bendourish fell, 
Answered Douchart's sounding 

dell, 
Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum, 
When the homicide o'ercome 
Hardly 'scaped with scathe and 

scorn, 210 

Left the pledge with conquering 

Lorn ! 

XIII 
SONG CONCLUDED 

'Vain was then the Douglas 

brand, 
Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand, 
Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk, 
Making sure of murder's work; 
Barendown fled fast away, 
Fled the fiery De la Haye, 
When this brooch triumphant 

borne 
Beamed upon the breast of Lorn. 



1 Farthest fled its former lord, 220 
Left his men to brand and cord, 
Bloody brand of Highland steel, 
English gibbet, axe, and wheel. 
Let him fly from coast to coast, 
Dogged by Comyn's vengeful 

ghost, 
While his spoils in triumph worn 
Long shall grace victorious Lorn ! • 

XIV 

As glares the tiger on his foes, 
Hemmed in by hunters, spears, 

and bows, 229 

And, ere he bounds upon the ring, 
Selects the object of his spring,— 
Now on the bard, now on his lord, 
So Edward glared and grasped his 

sword — 
But stern his brother spoke, ' Be 

still. 
What ! art thou yet so wild of will, 
After high deeds and sufferings 

long, 
To chafe thee for a menial's 

song?— 
Well hast thou framed, old man, 

thy strains, 
To praise the hand that pays thy 

pains, 
Yet something might thy song 

have told 240 

Of Lorn's three vassals, true and 

bold, 
Who rent their lord from Bruce's 

hold 
As underneath his knee he lay, 
And died to save him in the fray. 
I 've heard the Bruce's cloak and 

clasp 
Was clenched within their dying 

grasp, 
What time a hundred f oemen more 
Rushed in and back the victor 

bore, 
Long after Lorn had left the strife, 
Full glad to 'scape with limb and 

life. — 250 

Enough of this — and, minstrel, 

hold 
As minstrel-hire this chain of gold, 



436 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



For future lays a fair excuse 
To speak more nobly of the 
Bruce.' — 

xv 

'Now, by Columba's shrine, I 
swear, 

And every saint that's buried 
there, 

'T is he himself!' Lorn sternly 
cries, 

'And for my kinsman's death he 
dies.' 

As loudly Ronald calls, 4 Forbear ! 

Not in my sight while brand I 
wear, 260 

O'ermatched by odds, shall war- 
rior fall, 

Or blood of stranger stain my hall ! 

This ancient fortress of my race 

Shall be misfortune's resting- 
place, 

Shelter and shield of the dis- 
tressed, 

No slaughter-house for ship- 
wrecked guest' 

1 Talk not to me,' fierce Lorn re- 
plied, 

4 Of odds or match ! — when Comyn 
died, 

Three daggers clashed within his 
side ! 269 

Talk not to me of sheltering hall, 

The Church of God saw Comyn 
fall! 

On God's own altar streamed his 
blood, 

While o'er my prostrate kinsman 
stood 

The ruthless murderer — e'en as 
now — 

With armed hand and scornful 
brow ! — 

Up, all who love me ! blow on blow ! 

And lay the outlawed felons low ! ' 

XVI 

Then up sprang many a mainland 

lord, 
Obedient to their chieftain's word. 
Barcaldine's arm is high in air, 280 



And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare, 
Black Murthok's dirk has left its 

sheath, 
And clenched is Dermid's hand of 

death. 
Their muttered threats of ven- 

geance swell 
Into a wild and warlike yell ; 
Onward they press with weapons 

high, 
The affrighted females shriek and 

fly, 
And, Scotland, then thy brightest 

ray 288 

Had darkened ere its noon of 

day, 
But every chief of birth and fame 
That from the Isles of Ocean came 
At Ronald's side that hour with- 
stood 
Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for 

blood. 

XVII 

Brave Torquil from Dunvegan 
high, 

Lord of the misty hills of Skye, 

Mac - Niel, wild Bara's ancient 
thane, 

Duart of bold Clan-Gillian's strain, 

Fergus of Canna's castled bay, 

Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsay, 

Soon as they saw the broadswords 
glance, 300 

With ready weapons rose at once, 

More prompt that many an ancient 
feud, 

Full oft suppressed, full oft re- 
newed, 

Glowed 'twixt the chieftains of 
Argyle, 

And many a lord of ocean's isle. 

Wild was the scene — each sword 
was bare, 

Back streamed each chieftain's 
shaggy hair, 

In gloomy opposition set, 

Eyes, hands, and brandished wea- 
pons met ; 

Blue gleaming o'er the social 
board, 310 



CANTO SECOND 



437 



Flashed to the torches many a 

sword ; 
And soon those bridal lights may 

shine 
On purple blood for rosy wine. 

XVIII 

While thus for blows and death 

prepared, 
Each heart was up, each weapon 

bared, 
Each foot advanced, — a surly 

pause 
Still reverenced hospitable laws. 
All menaced violence, but alike 
Reluctant each the first to strike — 
For aye accursed in minstrel line 
Is he w T ho brawls mid song and 

wine, 3 21 

And, matched in numbers and in 

might, 
Doubtful and desperate seemed 

the fight. 
Thus threat and murmur died 

away, 
Till on the crowded hall there lay 
Such silence as the deadly still 
Ere bursts the thunder on the hill. 
With blade advanced, each chief- 
tain bold 
Showed like the Sworder's form of 

old, 329 

As wanting still the torch of life 
To wake the marble into strife. 

XIX 

That awful pause the stranger 

maid 
And Edith seized to pray for aid. 
As to De Argentine she clung, 
Away her veil the stranger flung, 
And, lovely mid her wild despair, 
Fast streamed her eyes, wide 

flowed her hair : 
'0 thou, of knighthood once the 

flower, 
Sure refuge in distressful hour, 
Thou who in Judah well hast 

fought 340 

For our dear faith and oft hast 

sought 



Renown in knightly exercise 
When this poor hand has dealt the 

prize, 
Say, can thy soul of honor brook 
On the unequal strife to look, 
When, butchered thus in peaceful 

hall, 
Those once thy friends, my bre- 
thren, fall ! ' 
To Argentine she turned her word, 
But her eye sought the Island 

Lord. 
A flush like evening's setting 

flame 350 

Glowed on his cheek ; his hardy 

frame 
As with a brief convulsion shook : 
With hurried voice and eager look, 
' Fear not,' he said, ' my Isabel ! 
What said I — Edith ! — all is 

well — 
Nay, fear not — I will well provide 
The safety of my lovely bride — 
My bride ? ' — but there the accents 

clung 
In tremor to his faltering tongue. 

xx 

Now rose De Argentine to claim 

The prisoners in his sovereign's 
name 361 

To England's crown, who, vassals 
sworn, 

'Gainst their liege lord had wea- 
pon borne — 

Such speech, I ween, was but to 
hide 

His care their safety to provide ; 

For knight more true in thought 
and deed 

Than Argentine ne'er spurred a 
steed — 

And Ronald who his meaning 
guessed 

Seemed half to sanction the re- 
quest. 369 

This purpose fiery Torquil broke : 

1 Somewhat we 've heard of Eng- 
land's yoke,' 

He said, ' and in our islands Fame 

Hath w r hispered of a lawful claim 



43» 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's 

lord, 
Though dispossessed by foreign 

sword. 
This craves reflection — hut 

though right 
And just the charge of England's 

Knight, 
Let England's crown her rebels 

seize 
Where she has power ; — in towers 

like these, 
Midst Scottish chieftains sum- 
moned here 380 
To bridal mirth and bridal cheer, 
Be sure, with no consent of mine 
Shall either Lorn or Argentine 
With chains or violence, in our 

sight, 
Oppress a brave and banished 

knight.' 

XXI 

Then waked the wild debate again 
With brawling threat and clamor 

vain. 
Vassals and menials thronging in 
Lent their brute rage to swell the 
din; 389 

When far and wide a bugle-clang 
From the dark ocean upward rang. 
* The abbot comes ! ' they cry at 

once, 
'The holy man, whose favored 
glance 
Hath sainted visions known ; 
Angels have met him on the way, 
Beside the blessed martyr's bay, 
And by Columba's stone. 
His monks have heard their hymn- 

ings high 
Sound from the summit of Dun-Y, 
To cheer his penance lone, 400 
When at each cross, on girth and 

wold — 
Their number thrice a hundred- 
fold- 
His prayer he made, his beads he 
told, 
With Aves many a one — 
He comes our feuds to reconcile, 



A sainted man from sainted isle ; 
We will his holy doom abide, 
The abbot shall our strife decide.' 

XXII 

Scarcely this fair accord was o'er 
When through the wide revolving 
door 410 

The black-stoled brethren wind ; 
Twelve sandalled monks who re- 
lics bore, 
With many a torch-bearer before 

And many a cross behind. 
Then sunk each fierce uplifted 

hand, 
And dagger bright and flashing 
brand 
Dropped swiftly at the sight ; 
They vanished from the Church- 
man's eye, 
As shooting stars that glance and 
die 
Dart from the vault of night. 420 

XXIII 

The abbot on the threshold stood, 
And in his hand the holy rood ; 
Back on his shoulders flowed his 

hood, 
The torch's glaring ray 
Showed in its red and flashing 

light 
His withered cheek and amice 

white, 
His blue eye glistening cold and 

bright, 
His tresses scant and gray. 
' Fair Lords,' he said, ■ Our Lady's 

love, 
And peace be with you from above, 
And Benedicite!— 431 

But what means this? — no peace 

is here ! — 
Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal 

cheer? 
Or are these naked brands 
A seemly show for Churchman's 

sight 
When he comes summoned to 

unite 
Betrothed hearts and hands ? ' 



CANTO SECOND 



4391 



xxrv 

Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal, 
Proud Lorn first answered the ap- 
peal: 
4 Thou com'st, O holy man, 440 
True sons of blessed church to 

greet. 
But little deeming here to meet 

A wretch beneath the ban 
Of Pope and Church for murder 

done 
Even on the sacred altar-stone — - 
Well mayst thou wonder we should 

know 
Such miscreant here, nor lay him 

low, 
Or dream of greeting, peace, or 

truce, 
With excommunicated Bruce ! 449 
Yet well I grant, to end debate, 
Thy sainted voice decide his fate.' 

XXV 

Then Roland pled the stranger's 

cause, 
And knighthood's oath and honor's 

laws ; 
And Isabel on bended knee 
Brought prayers and tears to back 

the plea ; 
And Edith lent her generous aid, 
And wept, and Lorn for mercy 

prayed. 
1 Hence,' he exclaimed, ' degener- 
ate maid ! 
Was 't not enough to Ronald's 

bower 459 

I brought thee, like a paramour, 
Or bond-maid at her master's gate, 
His careless cold approach to 

wait?— 
But the bold Lord of Cumberland, 
The gallant Clifford, seeks thy 

hand; 
His it shall be — Nay, no reply ! 
Hence! till those rebel eyes be 

dry.' 
With grief the abbot heard and 

saw, 
Yet naught relaxed his brow of 

awe. 



XXVI 

Then Argentine, in England's 

name, 
So highly urged his sovereign's 

claim 470 

He waked a spark that long sup- 
pressed 
Had smouldered in Lord Ronald's 

breast ; 
And now, as from the flint the 

fire, 
Flashed forth at once his generous 

ire. 
' Enough of noble blood,' he said, 
' By English Edward had been 

shed, 
Since matchless Wallace first had 

been 
In mockery crowned with wreaths 

of green, 
And done to death by felon hand 
For guarding well his father's 

land. 480 

Where 's Nigel Bruce ? and De la 

Haye, 
And valiant Seton — where are 

they ? 
Where Somerville, the kind and 

free? 
And Fraser, flower of chivalry ? 
Have they not been on gibbet 

bound, 
Their quarters flung to hawk and 

hound, 
And hold we here a cold debate 
To yield more victims to their 

fate? 
What ! can the English Leopard's 

mood 
Never be gorged with northern 

blood ? 490 

Was not the life of Athole shed 
To soothe the tyrant's sickened 

bed? 
And must his word till dying day 
Be naught but quarter, hang, and 

slay ! — 
Thou frown'st, De Argentine, — 

my gage 
Is prompt to prove the strife I 

wage.' 



440 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



XXVII 

1 Nor deem/ said stout Dunvegan's 

knight, 
4 That thou shalt brave alone the 

fight ! 
By saints of isle and mainland 

both, 
By Woden wild — my grandsire's 

oath — 500 

Let Eome and England do their 

worst, 
Howe'er attainted or accursed, 
If Bruce shall e'er find friends 

again 
Once more to brave a battle-plain, 
If Douglas couch again his lance, 
Or Randolph dare another chance, 
Old Torquil will not be to lack 
With twice a thousand at his 

back. — 
Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold, 
Good abbot ! for thou know'st of 

old, 510 

Torquil's rude thought and stub- 
born will 
Smack of the wild Norwegian still ; 
Nor will I barter Freedom's cause 
For England's wealth or Rome's 

applause.* 

XXVIII 

The abbot seemed with eye severe 
The hardy chieftain's speech to 

hear; 
Then on King Robert turned the 

monk, 
But twice his courage came and 

sunk, 
Confronted with the hero's look ; 
Twice fell his eye, his accents 

shook ; 520 

At length, resolved in tone and 

brow, 
Sternly he questioned him — * And 

thou, 
Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead, 
Why I denounce not on thy deed 
That awful doom which canons 

tell 
Shuts paradise and opens hell ; 
Anathema of power so dread, 



It blends the living with the dead, 
Bids each good angel soar away 
And every ill one claim his prey ; 
Expels thee from the church's 

care 53 1 

And deafens Heaven against thy 

prayer ; 
Arms every hand against thy life, 
Bans all who aid thee in the strife, 
Nay, each whose succor, cold and 

scant, 
With meanest alms relieves thy 

want; 
Haunts thee while living, — and 

when dead 
Dwells on thy yet devoted head, 
Rends Honor's scutcheon from thy 

hearse, 539 

Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse, 
And spurns thy corpse from hal- 
lowed ground, 
Flung like vile carrion to the 

hound : 
Such is the dire and desperate 

doom 
For sacrilege, decreed by Rome ; 
And such the well-deserved meed 
Of thine unhallowed, ruthless 

deed.' 

XXIX 

1 Abbot ! ' the Bruce replied, * thy 

charge 
It boots not to dispute at large. 
This much, howe'er, I bid thee 

know, 
No selfish vengeance dealt the 

blow, 550 

For Comyn died his country's foe. 
Nor blame I friends whose ill- 
timed speed 
Fulfilled my soon-repented deed, 
Nor censure those from whose 

stern tongue 
The dire anathema has rung. 
I only blame mine own wild ire, 
By Scotland's wrongs incensed to 

fire. 
Heaven knows my purpose to 

atone, 
Far as I may, the evil done, 



CANTO SECOND 



441 



And hears a penitent's appeal 560 
From papal curse and prelate's 

zeal. 
My first and dearest task achieved, 
Fair Scotland from her thrall re- 
lieved, 
Shall many a priest in cope and 

stole 
Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul, 
While I the blessed cross advance 
And expiate this unhappy chance 
In Palestine with sword and lance. 
But, while content the Church 

should know 
My conscience owns the debt I 

owe, 570 

Unto De Argentine and Lorn 
The name of traitor I return, 
Bid them defiance stern and high, 
And give them in their throats the 

lie! 
These brief words spoke, I speak 

no more. 
Do what thou wilt ; my shrift is 

o'er.' 

XXX 

Like man by prodigy amazed, 
Upon the king the abbot gazed ; 
Then o'er his pallid features 

glance 
Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 580 
His breathing came more thick 

and fast, 
And from his pale blue eyes were 

cast 
Strange rays of wild and wander- 
ing light ; 
Uprise his locks of silver white, 
Flushed is his brow, through every 

vein 
In azure tide the currents strain, 
And undistinguished accents broke 
The awful silence ere he spoke. 

XXXI 

'De Bruce! I rose with purpose 
dread 589 

To speak my curse upon thy head, 
And give thee as an outcast o'er 
To him who burns to shed thy 
gore; — 



But, like the Midianite of old 
Who stood on Zophim, Heaven- 
controlled, 
I feel within mine aged breast 
A power that will not be repressed. 
It prompts my voice, it swells my 

veins, 
It burns, it maddens, it con- 
strains ! — 
De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow 
Hath at God's altar slain thy 

foe: 
O'ermastered yet by high behest, 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be 
blessed ! ■ 602 

He spoke, and o'er the astonished 

throng 
Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 

XXXII 

Again that light has fired his eye, 
Again his form swells bold and 

high, 
The broken voice of age is gone, 
'T is vigorous manhood's lofty 

tone : 
1 Thrice vanquished on the battle- 
plain, 
Thy followers slaughtered, fled, or 
ta'en, 610 

A hunted wanderer on the wild, 
On foreign shores a man exiled, 
Disowned, deserted, and dis- 
tressed, 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be 

blessed ! 
Blessed in the hall and in the field, 
Under the mantle as the shield. 
Avenger of thy country's shame, 
Restorer of her injured fame, 
Blessed in thy sceptre and thy 

sword, 
De Bruce, for Scotland's rightful 
lord, 620 

Blessed in thy deeds and in thy 

fame, 
What lengthened honors wait thy 

name ! 
In distant ages sire to son 
Shall tell thy tale of freedom 
won, 



442 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



And teach his infants in the use 
Of earliest speech to falter Bruce. 
Go, then, triumphant ! sweep along 
Thy course, the theme of many a 

song ! 
The Power whose dictates swell 

my breast 
Hath blessed thee, and thou shalt 

be blessed ! — 630 

Enough — my short-lived strength 

decays, 
And sinks the momentary blaze. — 
Heaven hath our destined purpose 

broke, 
Not here must nuptial vow be 

spoke ; 
Brethren, our errand here is o'er, 
Our task discharged. — Unmoor, 

unmoor ! ' 
His priests received the exhausted 

monk, 
As breathless in their arms he 

sunk. 
Punctual his orders to obey, 
The train refused all longer stay, 
Embarked, raised sail, and bore 

away. 64 1 



CANTO THIRD 



Hast thou not marked when 
o'er thy startled head 

Sudden and deep the thunder- 
peal has rolled, 

How, when its echoes fell, a si- 
lence dead 

Sunk on the wood, the meadow, 
and the wold ? 

The rye-grass shakes not on the 
sod-built fold, 

The rustling aspen's leaves are 
mute and still, 

The wall-flower waves not on 
the ruined hold, 

Till, murmuring distant first, 
then near and shrill, 
The savage whirlwind wakes and 
sweeps the groaning hill. 



ii 
Artornish ! such a silence sunk 10 
Upon thy halls, when that gray 

monk 
His prophet-speech had spoke ; 
And his obedient brethren's sail 
Was stretched to meet the south- 
ern gale 
Before a whisper woke. 
Then murmuring sounds of doubt 

and fear, 
Close poured in many an anxious 

ear, 
The solemn stillness broke ; 
And still they gazed with eager 

guess 
Where in an oriel's deep recess 20 
The Island Prince seemed bent to 

press 
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer 
And gesture fierce, scarce deigned 

to hear. 

in 
Starting at length with frowning 

look, 
His hand he clenched, his head he 

shook, 
And sternly flung apart : 
1 And deem'st thou me so mean of 

mood 
As to forget the mortal feud, 
And clasp the hand with blood 

imbrued 29 

From my dear kinsman's heart? 
Is this thy rede ? — a due return 
For ancient league and friendship 

sworn ! 
But well our mountain proverb 

shows 
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and 

flows. 
Be it even so — believe ere^ long 
He that now bears shall wreak the 

wrong. — 
Call Edith — call the Maid of 

Lorn! 
My sister, slaves! — for further 

scorn, 
Be sure nor she nor I will stay. — 
Away, Pe Argentine, away ! — 40 



CANTO THIRD 



443 



We nor ally nor brother know 
In Bruce' s friend or England's 
foe.' 

IV 

But who the chieftain's rage can 

tell 
When, sought from lowest dun- 
geon cell 

To highest tower the castle round, 

No Lady Edith was there found ! 

He shouted, ' Falsehood ! — treach- 
ery!— 

Revenge and blood ! — a lordly 
meed 

To him that will avenge the deed ! 

A baron's lands ! ' — His frantic 
mood 50 

Was scarcely by the news with- 
stood 

That Morag shared his sister's 
flight, 

And that in hurry of the night, 

'Scaped noteless and without re- 
mark, 

Two strangers sought the abbot's 
bark. — 

4 Man every galley ! — fly — pur- 
sue! 

The priest his treachery shall rue ! 

Ay, and the time shall quickly 
come 

When we shall hear the thanks 
that Rome 

Will pay his feigned prophecy ! ' 60 

Such was fierce Lorn's indignant 
cry; 

And Cormac Doil in haste obeyed, 

Hoisted his sail, his anchor 
weighed — 

For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 

A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil. 

But others, lingering, spoke apart, 

'The maid has given her maiden 
heart 
To Ronald of the Isles, 

And, fearful lest her brother's 
word 69 

Bestow her on that English lord, 
She seeks Iona's piles, 

And wisely deems it best to dwell 



A votaress in the holy cell 
Until these feuds so fierce and 
fell 
The abbot reconciles.' 



As, impotent of ire, the hall 

Echoed to Lorn's impatient call — 

' My horse, my mantle, and my 
train ! 

Let none who honors Lorn re- 
main ! ' — 

Courteous but stern, a bold re- 
quest 80 

To Bruce De Argentine ex- 
pressed : 

'Lord Earl,' he said, 'I cannot 
chuse 

But yield such title to the Bruce, 

Though name and earldom both 
are gone 

Since he braced rebel's armor 
on — 

But, earl or serf — rude phrase 
was thine 

Of late, and launched at Argen- 
tine; 

Such as compels me to demand 

Redress of honor at thy hand. 

We need not to each other tell 90 

That both can wield their weapons 
well ; 
Then do me but the soldier grace 
This glove upon thy helm to place 
Where we may meet in fight ; 
And I will say, as still I 've said, 
Though by ambition far misled, 
Thou art a noble knight.' 

VI 

'And I,' the princely Bruce re- 
plied, 

'Might term it stain on knight- 
hood's pride 

That the bright sword of Argen- 
tine 100 

Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine ; 
But, for your brave request, 

Be sure the honored pledge you 
gave 

In every battle-field shall wave 



444 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Upon my helmet-crest ; 
Believe that if my hasty tongue 
Hath done thine honor causeless 
wrong, 
It shall be well redressed. 
Not dearer to my soul was glove 
Bestowed in youth by lady's love 
Than this which thou hast 
given ! in 

Thus then my noble foe I greet ; 
Health and high fortune till we 
meet, 
And then — what pleases Hea- 
ven.' 

VII 

Thus parted they — for now, with 

sound 
Like waves rolled back from rocky 

ground, 
The friends of Lorn retire ; 
Each mainland chieftain with his 

train 
Draws to his mountain towers 

again, 
Pondering how mortal schemes 

prove vain 120 

And mortal hopes expire. 
But through the castle double 

guard 
By Ronald's charge kept wakeful 

ward, 
Wicket and gate were trebly 

barred 
By beam and bolt and chain ; 
Then of the guests in courteous 

sort 
He prayed excuse for mirth broke 

short, 
And bade them in Artornish fort 

In confidence remain. 
Now torch and menial tendance 

led 130 

Chieftain and knight to bower and 

bed, 
And beads were told and Aves 

said, 
And soon they sunk away 
Into such sleep as wont to shed 
Oblivion on the weary head 
After a toilsome day. 



VIII 

But soon uproused, the monarch 

cried 
To Edward slumbering by his 
side, 
' Awake, or sleep for aye ! 
Even now there jarred a secret 
door — 140 

A taper-light gleams on the floor — 

Up, Edward ! up, I say ! 
Some one glides in like midnight 

ghost — 
Nay, strike not! 'tis our noble 

host/ 
Advancing then his taper's flame, 
Ronald stept forth, and with him 
came 
Dunvegan's chief — each bent 

the knee 
To Bruce in sign of fealty 

And proffered him his sword, 

And hailed him in a monarch's 

style 150 

As king of mainland and of isle 

And Scotland's rightful lord. 

' And O,' said Ronald, ' Owned of 

Heaven ! 
Say, is my erring youth forgiven, 
By falsehood's arts from duty 
driven, 
Who rebel falchion drew, 
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame, 
Even while I strove against thy 
claim, 
Paid homage just and true ?'— 
4 Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy 
time,' 160 

Answered the Bruce, * must bear 
the crime 
Since, guiltier far than you, 
Even I '—he paused; for Falkirk's 

woes 
Upon his conscious soul arose. 
The chieftain to his breast he 

pressed, 
And in a sigh concealed the rest. 

IX 

They proffered aid by arms and 

might 
To repossess him in his right ; 



CANTO THIRD 



445 



But well their counsels must be 

weighed 
Ere banners raised and musters 

made, 170 

For English hire and Lorn's in- 
trigues 
Bound many chiefs in southern 

leagues. 
In answer Bruce his purpose bold 
To his new vassals frankly told : 
1 The winter worn in exile o'er, 
I longed for Carrick's kindred 

shore. 
I thought upon my native Ayr 
And longed to see the burly fare 
That Clifford makes, whose lordly 

call 
Now echoes through my father's 

hall. 180 

But first my course to Arran led 
Where valiant Lennox gathers 

head, 
And on the sea by tempest tossed, 
Our barks dispersed, our purpose 

crossed, 
Mine own, a hostile sail to shun, 
Far from her destined course had 

run, 
When that wise will which masters 

ours 
Compelled us to your friendly 

towers.' 



Then Torquil spoke: 'The time 
craves speed ! 189 

We must not linger in our deed, 

But instant pray our sovereign 
liege 

To shun the perils of a siege. 

The vengeful Lorn with all his 
powers 

Lies but too near Artornish tow- 
ers, 

And England's light-armed vessels 
ride 

Not distant far the waves of Clyde, 

Prompt at these tidings to unmoor, 

And sweep each strait and guard 
each shore. 198 

Then, till this fresh alarm pass by, 



Secret and safe my liege must lie 
In the far bounds of friendly Skye, 
Torquil thy pilot and thy guide.' — 
'Not so, brave chieftain,' Ronald 

cried ; 
' Myself will on my sovereign wait, 
And raise in arms the men of 

Sleate, 
Whilst thou, renowned where 

chiefs debate, 
Shalt sway their souls by council 

sage 
And awe them by thy locks of 

age.' — 
' And if my words in weight shall 

fail, 
This ponderous sword shall turn 

the scale.' 210 

XI 

'The scheme,' said Bruce, Con- 
tents me well ; 

Meantime, 't were best that Isabel 

For safety with my bark and crew 

Again to friendly Erin drew. 

There Edward too shall with her 
wend, 

In need to cheer her and defend 

And muster up each scattered 
friend.' 

Here seemed it as Lord Ronald's 
ear 

Would other counsel gladlier hear ; 

But, all achieved as soon as 
planned, 220 

Both barks, in secret armed and 
manned, 
From out the haven bore ; 

On different voyage forth they ply, 

This for the coast of winged Skye 
And that for Erin's shore. 

XII 

With Bruce and Ronald bides the 

tale. — 
To favoring winds they gave the 

sail 
Till Mull's dark headlands scarce 

they knew 
And Ardnamurchan's hills were 

blue. 



446 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



But then the squalls blew close 

and hard, 230 

And, fain to strike the galley's 

yard 
And take them to the oar, 
With these rude seas in weary 

plight 
They strove the livelong day and 

night, 
Nor till the dawning had a sight 

Of Skye's romantic shore. 
Where Coolin stoops him to the 

west, 
They saw upon his shivered crest 

The sun's arising gleam ; 
But such the labor and delay, 240 
Ere they were moored in Scavigh 

bay — 
For calmer heaven compelled to 

stay — 
He shot a western beam. 
Then Ronald said, 'If true mine 

eye, 
These are the savage wilds that 

lie 
North of Strathnardill and Dun- 

skye ; 
No human foot comes here, 
And, since these adverse breezes 

blow, 
If my good liege love hunter's 

bow, 
What hinders that on land we 

go 250 

And strike a mountain-deer ? 
Allan, my page, shall with us 

wend; 
A bow full deftly can he bend, 
And, if we meet a herd, may 

send 
A shaft shall mend our cheer.' 
Then each took bow and bolts in 

hand, 
Their row-boat launched and leapt 

to land, 
And left their skiff and train, 
Where a wild stream with head- 
long shock 
Came brawling down its bed of 

rock 260 

To mingle with the main. 



XIII 

Awhile their route they silent 
made, 
As men who stalk for mountain- 
deer, 
Till the good Bruce to Ronald 
said,— 
'Saint Mary! what a scene is 
here ! 
I 've traversed many a mountain- 
strand, 
Abroad and in my native land, 
And it has been my lot to tread 
Where safety more than pleasure 

led; 
Thus, many a waste I >ve wandered 
o'er, 270 

Clomb many a crag, crossed many 
a moor, 
But, by my halidQme, 
A scene so rude, so wild as this, 
Yet so sublime in barrenness, 
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps 
press 
Where'er I happed to roam.' 



XIV 

No marvel thus the monarch 

spake ; 

For rarely human eye has known 

A scene so stern as that dread 

lake 

With its dark ledge of barren 

stone. 280 

Seems that primeval earthquake's 

sway 
Hath rent a strange and shattered 
way 
Through the rude bosom of the 
hill, 
And that each naked precipice, 
Sable ravine, and dark abyss, 

Tells of the outrage still. 
The wildest glen but this can show 
Some touch of Nature's genial 

glow; 
On high Benmore green mosses 

grow, 
And heath-bells bud in deep Glen- 
croe, 290 

And copse on Cruchan-Ben ; 



CANTO THIRD 



447 



But here, — above, around, below, 

On mountain or in glen, 
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor 

flower, 
Nor augbt of vegetative power, 

The weary eye may ken. 
For all is rocks at random thrown, 
Black waves, bare crags, and banks 
of stone, 
As if were here denied 
The summer sun, the spring's 
sweet dew 300 

That clothe with many a varied 
hue 
The bleakest mountain-side. 

xv 

And wilder, forward as they wound, 
Were the proud cliffs and lake pro. 

found. 
Huge terraces of granite black 
Afforded rude and cumbered track ; 

For from the mountain hoar, 
Hurled headlong in some night of 

fear, 
When yelled the wolf and fled the 
deer, 309 

Loose crags had toppled o'er ; 
And some, chance-poised and bal- 
anced, lay 
So that a stripling arm might sway 

A mass no host could raise, 
In Nature's rage at random thrown 
Yet trembling like the Druid's 
stone 
On its precarious base. 
The evening mists with ceaseless 

change 
Now clothed the mountains' lofty 
range, 
Now left their foreheads bare, 
And round the skirts their. mantle 
furled, 320 

Or on the sable waters curled, 
Or on the eddying breezes whirled, 

Dispersed in middle air. 
And oft condensed at once they 

lower 
When, brief and fierce, the moun- 
tain shower 
Pours like a torrent down, 



And when return the sun's glad 

beams, 
Whitened with foam a thousand 

streams 
Leap from the mountain's crown. 

XVI 

' This lake,' said Bruce, 4 whose bar- 
riers drear 330 
Are precipices sharp and sheer, 
Yielding no track for goat or 

deer 
Save the black shelves we tread, 
How term you its dark waves ? and 

how 
Yon northern mountain's pathless 

brow, 
And yonder peak of dread 
That to the evening sun uplifts 
The griesly gulfs and slaty rifts 
Which seam its shivered 

head ? ' — 
'Coriskin call the dark lake's 

name, 340 

Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim, 
From old Cuchullin, chief of fame. 
But bards, familiar in our isles 
Rather with Nature's frowns than 

smiles, 
Full oft their careless humors 

please 
By sportive names from scenes 

like these. 
I would old Torquil were to show 
His Maidens with their breasts of 

snow, 
Or that my noble liege were nigh 
To hear his Nurse sing lullaby ! — 
The Maids — tall cliffs with break- 
ers white, 351 
The Nurse — a torrent's roaring 

might — 
Or that your eye could see the 

mood 
Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude, 
When dons the Hag her whitened 

hood— 
'T is thus our islesmen's fancy 

frames 
For scenes so stern fantastic 

names.' 



448 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



XVII 

Answered the Bruce, 'And musing 

mind 
Might here a graver moral find. 
These mighty cliffs that heave on 

high 360 

Their naked brows to middle 

sky, 
Indifferent to the sun or snow, 
Where naught can fade and naught 

can blow, 
May they not mark a monarch's 

fate, — 
Raised high mid storms of strife 

and state, 
Beyond life's lowlier pleasures 

placed, 
His soul a rock, his heart a waste ? 
O'er hope and love and fear aloft 
High rears his crowned head — But 

SOft ! 369 

Look, underneath yon jutting crag 
Are hunters and a slaughtered 

stag. 
Who may they be? But late you 

said 
No steps these desert regions 

tread?' — 

XVIII 

4 So said I — and believed in sooth,' 
Honald replied, ' I spoke the truth. 
Yet now I spy, by yonder stone, 
Five men — they mark us and 

come on ; 
And by their badge on bonnet 

borne 
I guess them of the land of Lorn, 
Foes to my liege.' — 'So let it 

be; 380 

I 've faced worse odds than five to 

three — 
But the poor page can little aid ; 
Then be our battle thus arrayed, 
If our free passage they contest ; 
Cope thou with two, I '11 match 

the rest.' — 
'Not so, my liege — for, by my 

life, 
This sword shall meet the treble 

strife ; 



My strength, my skill in arms, 

more small, 
And less the loss should Ronald 

fall. 
But islesmen soon to soldiers 

grow, 390 

Allan has sword as well as bow, 
And were my monarch's order 

given, 
Two shafts should make our num- 
ber even.' — 
' No ! not to save my life ! ' he 

said; 
'Enough of blood rests on my 

head 
Too rashly spilled — we soon shall 

know, 
Whether they come as friend or 

foe.' 

XIX 

Nigh came the strangers and more 

nigh ; — 
Still less they pleased the mon- 
arch's eye. 
Men were they all of evil mien, 400 
Down-looked, unwilling to be seen ; 
They moved with half-resolved 

pace, 
And bent on earth each gloomy 

face. 
The foremost two were fair ar- 

• rayed 
With brogue and bonnet, trews 

and plaid, 
And bore the arms of mountain- 
eers, 
Daggers and broadswords, bows 

and spears. 
The three that lagged small space 

behind 
Seemed serfs of more degraded 

kind ; 
Goat-skins or deer-hides o'er them 

cast 410 

Made a rude fence against the 

blast ; 
Their arms and feet and heads 

were bare, 
Matted their beards, unshorn their 

hair ; 



CANTO THIRD 



449 



For arms the caitiffs bore in hand 
A club, an axe, a rusty brand. 

xx 

Onward still mute, they kept the 

track ; 
'Tell who ye be, or else stand 

back,' 
Said Bruce ; ' in deserts when they 

meet, 
Men pass not as in peaceful street' 
Still at his stern command they 

stood, 4 2 ° 

And proffered greeting brief and 

rude, 
But acted courtesy so ill 
As seemed of fear and not of will. 
'Wanderers we are, as you may 

be; 
Men hither driven by wind and sea, 
Who, if you list to taste our cheer, 
Will share with you this fallow 

deer.' — 
1 If from the sea, where lies your 

bark?' — 
1 Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! 
Wrecked yesternight : but w 7 e are 

men 430 

Who little sense of peril ken. 
The shades come down — the day 

is shut — 
Will you go with us to our 

hut?' — 
1 Our vessel w T aits us in the bay ; 
Thanks for your proffer — have 

good-day.' — 
' Was that your galley, then, which 

rode 
Not far from shore when evening 

glowed ? ' — 
' It was,' — ' Then spare your need- 
less pain, 
There will she now be sought in 

vain. 
We saw her from the mountain 

head 440 

When, with Saint George's blazon 

red 
A southern vessel bore in sight, 
And yours raised sail and took to 

flight.' — 



XXI 

1 Now, by the rood, unwelcome 

news ! ' 
Thus with Lord Ronald communed 

Bruce ; 
1 Nor rests there light enough to 

show 
If this their tale be true or no. 
j The men seem bred of churlish 

kind, 
i Yet mellow nuts have hardest 

rind ; 
j We will go with them —food and 

fire 450 

And sheltering roof our wants re- 

quire. 
Sure guard 'gainst treachery will 

we keep, 
And watch by turns our comrades' 

sleep. — 
Good fellows, thanks ; your guests 

we '11 be. 
And well will pay the courtesy. 
Come, lead us where your lodging 

lies — 
Nay, soft! we mix not compa- 
nies. — 
Show T us the path o'er crag and 

stone, 
And we will follow you;— lead 

on/ 

XXII 

They reached the dreary cabin, 

made 460 

Of sails against a rock displayed, 

And there on entering found 
A slender boy, whose form and 

mien 
111 suited with such savage scene, 
In cap and cloak of velvet green, 

Low 7 seated on the ground. 
His garb was such as minstrels 

wear, 
Dark was his hue, and dark his 

hair, 
His youthful cheek was marred by 

care, 
His eyes in sorrow drowned. 470 
' Whence this poor boy ? ' — As 

Ronald spoke, 



45° 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



The voice his trance of anguish 

broke ; 
As if awaked from ghastly dream, 
He raised his head with start and 

scream, 
And wildly gazed around ; 
Then to the wall his face he turned, 
And his dark neck with blushes 

burned. 

XXIII 

* Whose is the boy ? ' again he said, 
'By chance of war our captive 

made; 
He may be yours, if you should 

hold 480 

That music has more charms than 

gold; 
For, though from earliest child- 
hood mute, 
The lad can deftly touch the lute, 
And on the rote and viol play, 
And well can drive the time away 
For those who love such glee ; 
For me the favoring breeze, 

when loud 
It pipes upon the galley's 

shroud, 
Makes blither melody.' — 
'Hath he, then, sense of spoken 

sound ?'— 490 

'Ay; so his mother bade us 

know, 
A crone in our late shipwreck 

drowned, 
And hence the silly stripling's 

woe. 
More of the youth I cannot say, 
Our captive but since yesterday ; 
When wind and weather waxed so 

grim, 
We little listed think of him. — 
But why waste time in idle words ? 
Sit to your cheer — unbelt your 

swords.' 
Sudden the captive turned his 

head, 500 

And one quick glance to Ronald 

sped. 
It was a keen and warning look, 
And well the chief the signal took. 



XXIV 

1 Kind host,' he said, * our needs re- 
quire 
A separate board and separate 

fire; 
For know that on a pilgrimage 
Wend I, my comrade, and this 

page. 
And, sworn to vigil and to fast 
Long as this hallowed task shall 

last, 
We never doff the plaid or 

sword, 510 

Or feast us at a stranger's board, 
And never share one common 

sleep, 
But one must still his vigil keep. 
Thus, for our separate use, good 

friend, 
We '11 hold this hut's remoter 

end.' — 
' A churlish vow,' the elder said, 
1 And hard, methinks, to be obeyed. 
How say you, if, to wreak the 

scorn 
That pays our kindness harsh re- 
turn, 
We should refuse to share our 

meal?'— 520 

' Then say we that our swords are 

steel ! 
And our vow binds us not to 

fast 
Where gold or force may buy re- 
past.' — 
Their host's dark brow grew keen 

and fell, 
His teeth are clenched, his features 

swell ; 
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire 
Before Lord Ronald's glance of 

fire, 
Nor could his craven courage brook 
The monarch's calm and dauntless 

look. 
With laugh constrained — * Let 

every man 530 

Follow the fashion of his clan! 
Each to his separate quarters 

keep, 
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep; 



CAXTO THIRD 



45* 



XXV 

Tlieir fire at separate distance 

burns, 
By turns they eat, keep guard by 

turns ; 
For evil seemed that old man's 

eye, 
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. 
Still he avoided forward look, 
But slow and circumspectly took 
A circling, never-ceasing glance, 
By doubt and cunuing marked at 

once, 541 

Which shot a mischief -boding 

ray 
From under eyebrows shagged and 

gray. 
The younger, too, who seemed his 

son, 
Had that dark look the timid 

shun; 
The half-clad serfs behind them 

sate, 
And scowled a glare twixt fear 

and hate — 
Till all, as darkness onward crept. 
Couched down, and seemed to 

sleep or slept. 
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless 

tongue 550 

Must trust his eyes to wail his 

wrong, 
A longer watch of sorrow made, 
But stretched his limbs to 3lumber 

laid. 

XXVI 

Not in his dangerous host confides 

The king, but wary watch pro- 
vides. 

Ronald keeps ward till midnight 
past, 

Then wakes the king, young Allan 
last; 

Thus ranked, to give the youthful 
page 

The rest required by tender age. 

What is Lord Ronald's wakeful 
thought 560 

To chase the languor toil had 
brought ? — 



For deem not that he deigned to 

throw 
Much care upon such coward 

foe — 
J He thinks of lovely Isabel 
! When at her foeman's feet she fell, 
Nor less when, placed in princely 

selle, 
She glanced on him with favoring 

eyes 
At Woodstock when he won the 

prize. 
Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair, 569 
In pride of place as mid despair, 
Must she alone engross his care. 
His thoughts to his betrothed 

bride, 
To Edith, turn — 0, how decide, 
When here his love and heart are 

given, 
And there his faith stands plight 

to Heaven ! 
No drowsy ward 't is his to keep. 
For seldom lovers long for sleep. 
Till sung his midnight hymn the 

owl, 
Answered the dog-fox with his 

howl, 
Then waked the king — at his re- 
quest, 580 
Lord Ronald stretched himself to 

rest. 

XXVII 

What spell was good King Rob- 
ert's, say, 
To drive the weary night away ? 
His was the patriot's burning 

thought 

Of freedom's battle bravely fought. 

I Of castles stormed, of cities freed. 

j Of deep design and daring deed, 

Of England's roses reft and torn, 

I And Scotland's cross in triumph 

worn, 

| Of rout and rally, war and truce,— 

I As heroes think, so thought the 

Bruce. 591 

No marvel, mid such musings high 

Sleep shunned the monarch's 

thoughtful eye. 



452 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Now over Coolin's eastern head 
The grayish light begins to spread, 
The otter to his cavern drew, 
And clamored shrill the wakening 

mew; 
Then watched the page — to need- 
ful rest 
The king resigned his anxious 
breast. 

XXVITI 

To Allan's eyes was harder task 
The weary watch their safeties 

ask. 601 

He trimmed the fire and gave to 

shine 
With bickering light the splintered 

pine; 
Then gazed awhile where silent 

laid 
Their hosts were shrouded by the 

plaid. 
But little fear waked in his mind, 
For he was bred of martial kind, 
And, if to manhood he arrive, 
May match the boldest knight 

alive. 
Then thought he of his mother's 

tower, 610 

His little sister's greenwood 

bower, 
How there the Easter - gambols 

pass, 
And of Dan Joseph's lengthened 

mass. 
But still before his weary eye 
In rays prolonged the blazes die — 
Again he roused him — on the lake 
Looked forth where now the twi- 
light-flake 
Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay 

furled, 
The morning breeze the lake had 

curled, 620 

The short dark waves, heaved to 

the land, 
With ceaseless plash kissed cliff 

or sand ; — 
It was a slumbrous sound — he 

turned 



To tales at which his youth had 

burned, 
Of pilgrim's path by demon 

crossed, 
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost, 
Of the wild witch's baneful cot, 
And mermaid's alabaster grot, 
Who bathes her limbs in sunless 

well 
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted 

cell. 630 

Thither in fancy rapt he flies, 
And on his sight the vaults arise ; 
That hut's dark walls he sees no 

more, 
His foot is on the marble floor, 
And o'er his head the dazzling 

spars 
Gleam like a firmament of stars ! — 
Hark ! hears he not the sea-nymph 

speak 
Her anger in that thrilling 

shriek ! — 
No! all too late, with Allan's 

dream 
Mingled the captive's warning 

scream. 640 

As from the ground he strives to 

start, 
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart ! 
Upwards he casts his dizzy eyes — 
Murmurs his master's name — and 

dies! 

XXIX 

Not so awoke the king ! his hand 

Snatched from the flame a knotted 
brand, 

The nearest weapon of his wrath ; 

With this he crossed the murder- 
er's path 
And venged young Allan well ! 

The spattered brain and bubbling 
blood 650 

Hissed on the half -extinguished 
wood, 
The miscreant gasped and fell! 

Nor rose in peace the Island Lord ; 

One caitiff died upon his sword, 

And one beneath his grasp lies 
prone 



CANTO THIRD 



453 



In mortal grapple overthrown. 
But while Lord Ronald's dagger 

drank 
The life-blood from his panting 

flank, 
The father-ruffian of the band 
Behind him rears a coward hand ! — 
O for a moment's aid, 66 1 

Till Bruce, who deals no double 

blow, 
Dash to the earth another foe, 

Above his comrade laid ! — 
And it is gained — the captive 

sprung 
On the raised arm and closely 

clung, 
And, ere he shook him loose, 
The mastered felon pressed the 

ground, 
And gasped beneath a mortal 

wound, 669 

While o'er him stands the Bruce. 

XXX 

1 Miscreant ! while lasts thy flitting 

spark, 
Give me to know the purpose 

dark 
That armed thy hand with mur- 
derous knife 
Against offenceless stranger's 

life?' — 
' Xo stranger thou ! ' with accent 

fell, 
Murmured the wretch ; ' I know 

thee well, 
And know thee for the foeman 

sworn 
Of my high chief, the mighty 

Lorn.' — 
4 Speak yet again, and speak the 

truth 
For thy soul's sake ! —from whence 

this youth? 680 

His country, birth, and name de- 
clare, 
And thus one evil deed repair.' — 
' Vex me no more ! — my blood 

runs cold — 
Xo more I know than I have 

told. 



We found him in a bark we sought 
With different purpose — and I 

thought ' — 
Fate cut him short; in blood and 

broil, 
As he had lived, died Cormac Doil. 

XXXI 

1 Then resting on his bloody blade, 
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said, 
1 Xow shame upon us both ! — that 

boy 691 

Lifts his mute face to heaven 
And clasps his hands, to testify 
His gratitude to God on high 

For strange deliverance given. 
His speechless gesture thanks 

hath paid, 
Which our free tongues have left 

unsaid ! ' 
He raised the youth with kindly 

word, 
But marked him shudder at the 

sword : 
He cleansed it from its hue of 

death, 700 

And plunged the weapon in its 

sheath. 
' Alas, poor child ! unfitting part 
Fate doomed when with so soft a 

heart 
And form so slight as thine 
She made thee first a pirate's 

slave, 
Then in his stead a patron gave 

Of wayward lot like mine ; 
A landless prince, whose wander- 
ing life 
Is but one scene of blood and 

strife — 
Yet scant of friends the Bruce 

shall be, 710 

But he '11 find resting-place for 

thee. — 
Come, noble Ronald! o'er the 

dead 
Enough thy generous grief is paid, 
And well has Allan's fate been 

wroke ; 
Come, wend we hence — the day 

has broke. 



454 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Seek we our bark — I trust the 

tale 
Was false that she had hoisted 

sail/ 

XXXII 

Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell, 
The Island Lord bade sad fare- 
well 
To Allan : ' Who shall tell this 

tale,' 720 

He said, * in halls of Donagaile ? 
O, who his widowed mother tell 
That, ere his bloom, her fairest 

fell?— 
Rest thee, poor youth ! and trust 

my care 
For mass and knell and funeral 

prayer ; 
While o'er those caitiffs where 

they lie 
The wolf shall snarl, the raven 

cry!' 
And now the eastern mountain's 

head 
On the dark lake threw lustre red ; 
Bright gleams of gold and purple 

streak 730 

Ravine and precipice and peak— 
So earthly power at distance 

shows ; 
Reveals his splendor, hides his 

woes. 
O'er sheets of granite, dark and 

broad, 
Rent and unequal, lay the road. 
In sad discourse the warriors 

wind, 
And the mute captive moves be- 
hind. 



CANTO FOURTH 

I 

Stranger ! if e'er thine ardent 
step hath traced 

The northern realms of ancient 
Caledon, 

Where the proud Queen of Wil- 
derness hath placed 



By lake and cataract her lonely 

throne, 
Sublime but sad delight thy soul 

hath known, 
Gazing on pathless glen and 

mountain high, 
Listing where from the cliffs the 

torrents thrown 
Mingle their echoes with the 

eagle's cry, 
And with the sounding lake and 

with the moaning sky. 

Yes ! 't was sublime, but sad. — 
The loneliness 10 

Loaded thy heart, the desert 
tired thine eye ; 

And strange and awful fears be- 
gan to press 

Thy bosom with a stern solem- 
nity. 

Then hast thou wished some 
woodman's cottage nigh, 

Something that showed of life, 
though low and mean ; 

Glad sight, its curling wreath of 
smoke to spy, 

Glad sound, its cock's blithe 
carol would have been, 
Or children whooping wild beneath 
the willows green. 

Such are the scenes where sav- 
age grandeur wakes 

An awful thrill that softens into 
sighs ; 20 

Such feelings rouse them by dim 
Rannoch's lakes, 

In dark Glencoe such gloomy 
raptures rise : 

Or farther, where beneath the 
northern skies 

Chides wild Loch-Eribol his cav- 
erns hoar — 

But, be the minstrel judge, they 
yield the prize 

Of desert dignity to that dread 
shore 
That sees grim Coolin rise and 
hears Coriskin roar. 



CANTO FOURTH 



455 



ii 

Through such wild scenes the 
champion passed, 

When bold halloo and bugle-blast 

Upon the breeze came loud and 
fast. 30 

' There,' said the Bruce, ■ rung Ed- 
ward's horn ! 

What can have caused such brief 
return? 

And see, brave Ronald, — see him 
dart 

O'er stock and stone like hunted 
hart, 

Precipitate, as is the use, 

In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. 

He marks us, and his eager cry 

Will tell his news ere he be nigh.' 

in 

Loud Edward shouts, 'What 
make ye here, 39 

Warring upon the mountain-deer, 
When Scotland wants her king? 

A bark from Lennox crossed our 
track, 

With her in speed I hurried back, 
These joyful news to bring — 

The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale, 

And Douglas wakes his native 
vale ; 

Thy storm-tossed fleet hath won 
its way 

With little loss to Brodick-Bay, 

And Lennox with a gallant band 

Waits but thy coming and com- 
mand 50 

To waft them o'er to Carrick 
strand. 

There are blithe news ! — but mark 
the close ! 

Edward, the deadliest of our foes, 

As with his host he northward 
passed, 

Hath on the borders breathed his 
last' 

IV 

Still stood the Bruce — his steady 

cheek 
Was little wont his joy to speak, 



But then his color rose : — 
'Now, Scotland! shortly shalt thou 

see, 
With God's high will, thy children 
free 60 

And vengeance on thy foes ! 
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs, 
Bear witness with me, Heaven, be- 
longs 
My joy o'er Edward's bier ; 
I took my knighthood at his hand, 
And lordship held of him and land, 

And well may vouch it here, 
That, blot the story from his page 
Of Scotland ruined in his rage, 
You read a monarch brave and 
sage 70 

And to his people dear.' — 
' Let London's burghers mourn her 

lord 
And Croydon monks his praise re- 
cord,' 
The eager Edward said ; 
' Eternal as his own, my hate 
Surmounts the bounds of mortal 
fate 
And dies not with the dead ! 
Such hate was his on Sol way's 

strand 
When vengeance clenched his pal- 
sied hand, 79 
Thatpointed yetto Scotland's land, 

As his last accents prayed 
Disgrace and curse upon his heir 
If he one Scottish head should 

spare 
Till stretched upon the bloody lair 

Each rebel corpse was laid ! 
Such hate was his when his last 

breath 
Renounced the peaceful house of 

death, 
And bade his bones to Scotland's 

coast 
Be borne by his remorseless host, 
As if his dead and stony eye 90 
Could still enjoy her misery ! 
Such hate was his — dark, deadly, 

long; 
Mine — as enduring, deep, and 
strong ! ' — 



456 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



'Let women, Edward, war with 

words, 
With curses monks, but men with 

swords : 
Nor doubt of living foes to sate 
Deepest revenge and deadliest 

hate. 
Now to the seal Behold the 

beach, 
And see the galley's pendants 

stretch 
Their fluttering length down favor- 
ing gale ! ioo 
Aboard, aboard ! and hoist the 

sail, 
Hold we our way for Arran first, 
Where meet in arms our friends 

dispersed ; 
Lennox the loyal, De la Haye, 
And Boyd the bold in battle 

fray. 
I long the hardy band to head, 
And see once more my standard 

spread.— 
Does noble Ronald share our 

course, 
Or stay to raise his island 

force ? ' — 
4 Come weal, come woe, by Bruce 1 s 

side,' no 

Replied the chief, ' will Ronald 

bide. 
And since two galleys yonder ride, 
Be mine, so please my liege, dis- 
missed 
To wake to arms the clans of 

Uist, 
And all who hear the Minche's 

roar 
On the Long Island's lonely shore, 
The nearer Isles with slight 

delay 
Ourselves may summon in our 

way; 
And soon on Arran's shore shall 

meet 119 

With Torquil's aid a gallant fleet, 
If aught avails their chieftain's 

hest 
Among the islesmen of the west.' 



VI 

Thus was their venturous council 

said. 
But, ere their sails the galleys 

spread, 
Coriskin dark and Coolin high 
Echoed the dirge's doleful cry. 
Along that sable lake passed 

slow — 
Fit scene for such a sight of woe — 
The sorrowing islesmen as they 

bore 129 

The murdered Allan to the shore. 
At every pause with dismal shout 
Their coronach of grief rung out, 
And ever when they moved again 
The pipes resumed their clamor- 

ous strain, 
And with the pibroch's shrilling 

wail 
Mourned the young heir of Dona- 

gaile. 
Round and around, from cliff and 

cave 
His answer stern old Coolin gave, 
Till high upon his misty side 
Languished the mournful notes 

and died. 140 

For never sounds by mortal made 
Attained his high and haggard 

head, 
That echoes but the tempest's 

moan 
Or the deep thunder's rending 

groan. 

VII 

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark, 
. She bounds before the gale, 
The mountain breeze from Ben-na- 
darch 
Is joyous in her sail ! 
With fluttering sound like laughter 
hoarse 
The cords and canvas strain, 150 
The waves, divided by her force, 
In rippling eddies chased her 
course, 
As if they laughed again. 
Not down the breeze more blithely 
flew, 



CANTO FOURTH 



457 



Skimming the wave, the light sea- 
mew 
Than the gay galley bore 

Her course upon that favoring 
wind, 

And Coolin's crest has sunk be- 
hind 
And Slapin's caverned shore. 

'T was then that warlike signals 
wake 1 60 

Dunscaith's dark towers and Eis- 
ord's lake, 

And soon from Cavilgarrigh's head 

Thick wraaths of eddying smoke 
were spread ; 

A summons these of war and 
wrath 

To the brave clans of Sleat and 
Strath, 
And ready at the sight 

Each warrior to his weapon 
sprung 

And targe upon his shoulder flung, 
Impatient for the fight. 

Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare 
gray, 170 

Had charge to muster their array 

And guide their barks to Brodick- 
Bay. 

VIII 

Signal of Ronald's high command, 
A beacon gleamed o'er sea and 

land 
From Canna's tower, that, steep 

and gray, 
Like falcon -nest o'erhangs the 

bay. 
Seek not the giddy crag to climb 
To view the turret scathed by 

time; 
It is a task of doubt and fear 
To aught but goat or mountain- 
deer. 180 
But rest thee on the silver 

beach 
And let the aged herdsman teach 

His tale of former day ; 
His cur's wild clamor he shall 

chide, 
And for thy seat by ocean's side 



His varied plaid display ; 
Then tell how with their chief. 

tain came 
In ancient times a foreign dame 
To yonder turret gray. 
Stern was her lord's suspicious 
mind 190 

Who in so rude a jail confined 

So soft and fair a thrall ! 
And oft when moon on ocean slept 
That lovely lady sate and wept 

Upou the castle- wall, 
And turned her eye to southern 

climes, 
And thought perchance of happier 

times, 
And touched her lute by fits, and 

sung 
Wild ditties in her native tongue. 
And still, when on the cliff and 
bay 200 

Placid and pale the moonbeams 
play 
And every breeze is mute, 
Upon the lone Hebridean's ear 
Steals a strange pleasure mixed 

with fear, 
While from that cliff he seems to 
hear 
The murmur of a lute 
And sounds as of a captive lone 
That mourns her woes in tongue 

unknown.— 
Strange is the tale— -but all too 

long 
Already hath it staid the song- 
Yet who may pass them by, 211 
That crag and tower in ruins gray, 
Nor to their hapless tenant pay 
The tribute of a sigh? 

IX 

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark 

O'er the broad ocean driven, 
Her path by Ronin's mountains 
dark 
The steersman's hand hath 
given. 
And Ronin's mountains dark have 
sent 
Their hunters to the shore, 220 



458 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



And each his ashen bow unbent, 
And gave his pastime o'er, 

And at the Island Lord's command 

For hunting spear took warrior's 
brand. 

On Scooreigg next a warning light 

Summoned her warriors to the 
fight; 

A numerous race ere stern Mac- 
Leod 

O'er their bleak shores in ven- 
geance strode, 

When all in vain the ocean-cave 

Its refuge to his victims gave. 230 

The chief, relentless in his wrath, 

With blazing heath blockades the 
path; 

In dense and stifling volumes 
rolled, 

The vapor filled the caverned 
hold! 

The warrior. threat, the infant's 
plain, 

The mother's screams, were heard 
in vain ; 

The vengeful chief maintains his 
fires 

Till in the vault a tribe expires ! 

The bones which strew that cav- 
ern's gloom 239 

Too well attest their dismal doom. 



Merrily, merrily goes the bark 
On a breeze from the northward 
free, 
So shoots through the morning 
sky the lark, 
Or the swan through the sum- 
mer sea. 
The shores of Mull on the east- 
ward lay, 
And Ulva dark and Colonsay, 
And all the group of islets gay 

That guard famed Staff a round. 
Then all unknown its columns 

rose 
Where dark and undisturbed re- 
pose 250 
The cormorant had found, 
And the shy seal had quiet home 



And weltered in that wondrous 

dome 
Where, as to shame the temples 

decked 
By skill of earthly architect, 
Nature herself, it seemed, would 

raise 
A minster to her Maker's praise ! 
Not for a meaner use ascend 
Her columns or her arches bend ; 
Nor of a theme less solemn tells 
That mighty surge that ebbs and 

swells, 261 

And still, between each awful 

pause, 
From the high vault an answer 

draws 
In varied tone prolonged and high 
That mocks the organ's melody. 
Nor doth its entrance front in 

vain 
To old Iona's holy fane, 
That Nature's voice might seem 

to say, 
1 Well hast thou done, frail child 

of clay ! 
Thy humble powers that stately 

shrine 270 

Tasked high and hard — but wit- 
ness mine I * 

XI 

Merrily, merrily goes the bark, 
Before the gale she bounds ; 
So darts the dolphin from the 
shark, 
Or the deer before the hounds. 
They left Loch-Tua on their lee, 
And they wakened the men of the 
wild Tiree, 
And the chief of the sandy Coll ; 
They paused not at Columba's 

isle, 
Though pealed the bells from the 
holy pile 280 

With long and measured toll ; 
No time for matin or for mass, 
And the sounds of the holy sum- 
mons pass 
Away in the billows' roll. 
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike lord 



CANTO FOURTH 



459 



Their signal saw and grasped his 

sword, 
And verdant Islay called her host, 
And the clans of Jura's rugged 

coast 
Lord Ronald's call obey, 
And Scarba's isle, whose tortured 

shore 290 

Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, 

And lonely Colonsay; — 
Scenes sung by him who sings no 

more! 
His bright and brief career is 

o'er, 
And mute his tuneful strains ; 
Quenched is his lamp of varied 

lore 
That loved the light of song to 

pour ; 
A distant and a deadly shore 
Has Leydex's cold remains ! 

XII 

Ever the breeze blows merrily, 300 
But the galley ploughs no more 

the sea. 
Lest, rounding wild Cantyre, they 

meet 
The southern foeman's watchful 

fleet, 
They held unwonted way; 
Up Tarbat's western lake they 

bore, 
Then dragged their bark the isth- 
mus o'er, 
As far as Kilmaconnel's shore 

Upon the eastern bay. 
It was a wondrous sight to see 309 
Topmast and pennon glitter free, 
High raised above the greenwood 

tree, 
As on dry land the galley moves 
By cliff and copse and alder groves. 
Deep import from that selcouth 

sign 
Did many a mountain seer divine, 
For ancient legends told the Gael 
That when a royal bark should 

sail 
O'er Kilmaconnel moss 
Old Albyn should in fight prevail, 



And every foe should faint and 
quail 320 

Before her silver Cross. 

XIII 

Now launched once more, the in- 
land sea 
They furrow with fair augury, 

And steer for Arran's isle : 
The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
Ben-Ghoil, 'the Mountain of the 

Wind,' 
Gave his grim peaks a greeting 
kind, 
And bade Loch Ranza smile. 
Thither their destined course they 

drew ; 
It seemed the isle her monarch 
knew, 330 

So brilliant was the landward view, 

The ocean so serene ; 
Each puny wave in diamonds 

rolled 
O'er the calm deep where hues of 
gold 
With azure strove and green. 
The hill, the vale, the tree, the 

tower, 
Glowed with the tints of evening's 
hour, 
The beach was silver sheen, 
The wind breathed soft as lover's 
sigh, 339 

And oft renewed seemed oft to 
die, 
With breathless pause between. 
O, who with speech of war and 

woes 
Would wish to break the soft re- 
pose 
Of such enchanting scene? 

XIV 

Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks? 
The blush that dyes his manly 

cheeks, 
The timid look, and downcast eye, 
And faltering voice the theme 

deny. 
And good King Robert's brow 

expressed 



460 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



He pondered o'er some high re- 
quest, 350 
As doubtful to approve ; 
Yet in his eye and lip the while, 
Dwelt the half-pitying glance 

and smile 
Which manhood's graver mood 
beguile 
When lovers talk of love. 
Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled ; 
'And for my bride betrothed,' he 

said, 
'My liege has heard the rumor 

spread 
Of Edith from Artornish fled. 
Too hard her fate — I claim no 
right 360 

To blame her for her hasty flight ; 
Be joy and happiness her lot ! — 
But she hath fled the bridal-knot, 
And Lorn recalled his promised 

plight 
In the assembled chieftains' 
sight. — 
When, to fulfil our fathers' band 
I proffered all I could — my 
hand — 
I w T as repulsed with scorn ; 
Mine honor I should ill assert, 
And worse the feelings of my 
heart, 370 

If I should play a suitor's part 
Again to pleasure Lorn.' 

XY 

4 Young Lord,' the royal Bruce re- 
plied, 
* That question must the Church 

decide; 
Yet seems it hard, since rumors 

state 
Edith takes Clifford for her mate, 
The very tie which she hath broke 
To thee should still be binding 

yoke. 
But, for my sister Isabel— 379 1 
The mood of woman who can tell ? 
I guess the Champion of the Rock, ! 
Victorious in the tourney shock, 
That knight unknown to whom the 
prize 



She dealt, — had favor in her eyes ; 
But since our brother Nigel's fate, 
Our ruined house and hapless state, 
From worldly joy and hope es- 
tranged, 
J Much is the hapless mourner 

changed. 
' Perchance,' here smiled the noble 

King, 
I 'This tale may other musings 
bring. 39 o 

; Soon shall we know — yon moun- 
tains hide 
I The little convent of Saint Bride ; 
! There, sent by Edward, she must 
stay 
Till fate shall give more prosper- 
ous day ; 
And thither will I bear thy suit, 
Nor will thine advocate be mute.' 

XVI 

As thus they talked in earnest 

mood, 
That speechless boy beside them 

stood. 
He stooped his head against the 

mast, 
And bitter sobs came thick and 

fast, 400 

A grief that would not be repressed 
But seemed to burst his youthful 

breast. 
His hands against his forehead 

held 
As if by force his tears repelled, 
But through his fingers long and 

slight 
Fast trilled the drops of crystal 

bright. 
Edward, who walked the deck 

apart, 
First spied this conflict of the 

heart. 
Thoughtless as brave, with blunt- 

ness kind 
He sought to cheer the sorrower's 

mind; 410 

By force the slender hand he drew 
From those poor eyes that streamed 

with dew. 



CANTO FOURTH 



461 



As in his hold the stripling strove — 
'T was a rough grasp, though 

meant in love — 
Away his tears the warrior swept, 
And bade shame on him that he 

wept. 
'I would to Heaven thy helpless 

tongue 
Could tell me who hath wrought 

thee wrong ! 
For, were he of our crew the best, 
The insult went not unredressed. 
Come, cheer thee ; thou art now of 

age 421 

To be a warrior's gallant page ; 
Thou shalt be mine! — a palfrey 

fair 
O'er hill and holt my boy shall 

bear, 
To hold my bow in hunting grove, 
Or speed on errand to my love ; 
For well I wot thou wilt not tell 
The temple where my wishes 

dwell.' 

xvit 

Bruce interposed, 'Gay Edward, 
no, 429 

This is no youth to hold thy bow, 
To fill thy goblet, or to bear 
Thy message light to lighter fair. 
Thou art a patron all too wild 
And thoughtless for this orphan 

child. 
See'st thou not how apart he steals, 
Keeps lonely couch, and lonely 

meals ? 
Fitter by far in yon calm cell 
To tend our sister Isabel, 
With father Augustine to share 
The peaceful change of convent 
prayer, 440 

Than wander wild adventures 

through 
With such a reckless guide as 

you.' — 
' Thanks, brother ! ' Edward an- 
swered gay, 
4 For the high laud thy words con- 
vey! 
But we may learn some future day, 



If thou or I can this poor boy 
Protect the best or best employ. 
Meanwhile, our vessel nears the 

strand ; 
Launch we the boat and seek the 

land.' 

XVIII 

To land King Robert lightly 

spruug, 450 

And thrice aloud his bugle rung 
With note prolonged aud varied 

strain 
Till bold Ben-Ghoil replied again. 
Good Douglas theu and De la 

Haye 
Had in a glen a hart at bay, 
And Lennox cheered the laggard 

hounds, 
When waked that horn the green- 
wood bounds. 
4 It is the foe ! • cried Boyd, who 

came 
In breathless haste with eye of 

flame, — 459 

' It is the foe ! — Each valiant lord 
Fling by his bow and grasp his 

sword ! ' 
4 Not so,' replied the good Lord 

James, 
'That blast no English bugle 

claims. 
Oft have I heard it fire the fight, 
Cheer the pursuit, or stop the 

flight. 
Dead were my heart and deaf mine 

ear, 
If Bruce should call nor Douglas 

hear ! 
Each to Loch Eanza's margin 

spring : 
That blast was winded by the 

king ! ' 

XIX 

Fast to their mates the tidings 
spread, 470 

And fast to shore the warriors 
sped. 

Bursting from glen and greenwood 
tree, 



462 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



High waked their loyal jubilee ! 
Around the royal Bruce they 

crowd, 
And clasped his hands, and wept 

aloud. 
Veterans of early fields were there, 
Whose helmets pressed their hoary 

hair, 
Whose swords and axes bore a 

stain 
From life-blood of the red-haired 

Dane ; 
And boys whose hands scarce 

brooked to wield 480 

The heavy sword or bossy shield. 
Men too were there that bore the 

scars 
Impressed in Albyn's woful wars, 
At Falkirk's fierce and fatal fight, 
Teyndrum's dread rout, and Meth- 

ven's flight ; 
The might of Douglas there was 

seen, 
There Lennox with his graceful 

mien; 
Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded 

Knight ; 
The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and 

light ; 489 

The heir of murdered De la Haye, 
And Boyd the grave, and Seton 

gay. 
Around their king regained they 

pressed, 
Wept, shouted, clasped him to 

their breast. 
And young and old, and serf and 

lord, 
And he who ne'er unsheathed a 

sword, 
And he in many a peril tried, 
Alike resolved the brunt to bide, 
And live or die by Bruce's side ! 

xx 

O War! thou hast thy fierce de- 
light, 

Thy gleams of joy, intensely 
bright ! 500 

Such gleams as from thy polished 
shield 



Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field ! 

Such transports wake, severe and 
high, 

Amid the pealing conquest cry; 

Scarce less, when after battle lost 

Muster the remnants of a host, 

And as each comrade's name they 
tell 

Who in the well-fought conflict 
fell, 

Knitting stern brow o'er flashing 
eye, 509 

Vow to avenge them or to die ! — 

Warriors ! — and where are war- 
riors found, 

If not on martial Britain's ground? 

And who, when waked with note 
of fire, 

Love more than they the British 
lyre? — 

Know ye not, — hearts to honor 
dear! 

That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, se- 
vere, 

At which the heartstrings vibrate 
high, 

And wake the fountains of the eye? 

And blame ye then the Bruce if 
trace 

Of tear is on his manly face 520 

When, scanty relics of the train 

That hailed at Scone his early 
reign, 

This patriot band around him 
hung, 

And to his knees and bosom 
clung? — 

Blame ye the Bruce? — His bro- 
ther blamed. 

But shared the weakness, while 
ashamed 

With haughty laugh his head he 
turned, 

And dashed away the tear he 
scorned. 

XXI 

'T is morning, and the convent bell 
Long time had ceased its matin 
knell 530 

Within thy walls, Saint Bride ! 



CANTO FOURTH 



463 



An aged sister sought the cell 
Assigned to Lady Isabel, 

And hurriedly she cried, 
4 Haste, gentle Lady, haste ! — 

there waits 
A noble stranger at the gates ; 
Saint Bride's poor votaress ne'er 

has seen 
A knight of such a princely mien ; 
His errand, as he bade me tell, 
Is with the Lady Isabel.' 540 

The princess rose, — for on her 

knee 
Low bent she told her rosary, — 
'Let him by thee his purpose 

teach ; 
I may not give a stranger 

speech.' — 
* Saint Bride forefend, thou royal 

maid ! ' 
The portress crossed herself and 

said, 
1 Not to be Prioress might I 
Debate his will, his suit deny.'— 
'Has earthly show then, simple 

fool, 
Power o'er a sister of thy rule ? 550 
And art thou, like the worldly 

train, 
Subdued by splendors light and 

vain ? ' 

XXII 

1 No, lady ! in old eyes like mine, 
Gauds have no glitter, gems no 

shine ; 
Nor grace his rank attendants 

vain, 
One youthful page is all his train. 
It is the form, the eye, the word, 
The bearing of that stranger lord ; 
His stature, manly, bold, and tall, 
Built like a castle's battled wall, 
Yet moulded in such just degrees, 
His giant- strength seems light- 
some ease. 562 
Close as the tendrils of the vine 
His locks upon his forehead twine, 
Jet-black save where some touch 

of gray 
Has ta'en the youthful hue away. 



Weather and war their rougher 

trace 
Have left on that majestic face ; — 
But 't is his dignity of eye ! 569 
There, if a suppliant, would I 

fly, 
Secure, mid danger, wrongs, and 

grief, 
Of sympathy, redress, relief— 
That glance, if guilty, would I 

dread 
More than the doom that spoke me 

dead !' 
4 Enough, enough,' the Princess 

cried, 
( 'T is Scotland's hope, her joy, 

her pride ! 
To meaner front was ne'er as- 
signed 
Such mastery o'er the common 

mind — 
Bestowed thy high designs to 

aid, 
How long, Heaven ! how long 

delayed!— 580 

Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce 
My darling brother, royal Bruce ! ■ 

XXIII 

They met like friends who part in 

pain, 
And meet in doubtful hope again. 
But when subdued that fitful swell, 
The Bruce surveyed the humble 

cell — 
' And this is thine, poor Isabel ! — 
That pallet-couch and naked wall, 
For room of state and bed of pall ; 
For costly robes and jewels rare, 
A string of beads and zone of 

hair: 591 

And for the trumpet's sprightly 

call 
To sport or banquet, grove or hall, 
The bell's grim voice divides thy 

care, 
'Twixt hours of penitence and 

prayer ! — 
ill for thee, my royal claim 
From the First David's sainted 

name! 



464 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



woe for thee, that while he 

sought 
His right, thy brother feebly 
fought ! ' 

XXIV 

4 Now lay these vain regrets aside, 
And be the unshaken Bruce ! ' she 

cried; 60 1 

' For more I glory to have shared 
The woes thy venturous spirit 

dared, 
When raising first thy valiant band 
In rescue of thy native land, 
Than had fair Fortune set me 

down 
The partner of an empire's crown. 
And grieve not that on pleasure's 

stream 
No more I drive in giddy dream, 
For Heaven the erring pilot 

knew, 610 

And from the gulf the vessel drew, 
Tried me with judgments stern 

and great, 
My house's ruin, thy defeat, 
Poor Nigel's death, till tamed I own 
My hopes are fixed on Heaven 

alone ; 
Nor e'er shall earthly prospects 

win 
My heart to this vain world of 

sin.' 

xxv 

1 Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice 
First wilt thou wait thy brother's 

voice; 619 

Then ponder if in convent scene 

No softer thoughts might inter- 
vene — 

Say they were of that unknown 
knight, 

Victor in Woodstock's tourney, 
fight - 

Nay, if his name such blush you 
owe, 

Victorious o'er a fairer foe ! ' 

Truly his penetrating eye 

Hath caught that blush's passing 
dye,— 



Like the last beam of evening 
thrown 

On a white cloud, — just seen and 
gone. 

Soon with calm cheek and steady 
eye 630 

The princess made composed re- 
ply : 

4 1 guess my brother's meaning 
well; 

For not so silent is the cell 

But we have heard the islemen all 

Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call, 

And mine eye proves that knight 
unknown 

And the brave Island Lord are 
one. 

Had then his suit been earlier 
made, 

In his own name with thee to 
aid — 

But that his plighted faith for- 
bade — 640 

I know not — But thy page so 
near? — 

This is no tale for menial's ear.' 

XXVI 

Still stood that page, as far apart 
As the small cell would space 

afford ; 
With dizzy eye and bursting heart 
He leant his weight on Bruce's 

sword, 
The monarch's mantle too he bore, 
And drew the fold his visage o'er. 
' Fear not for him — in murderous 

strife,' 
Said Bruce, * his warning saved my 

life ; 650 

Full seldom parts he from my side, 
And in his silence I confide, 
Since he can tell no tale again. 
He is a boy of gentle strain, 
And I have purposed he shall 

dwell 
In Augustine the chaplain's cell 
And wait on thee, my Isabel.— 
Mind not his tears ; I 've seen 

them flow, 
As in the thaw dissolves the snow. 



CANTO FOURTH 



465 



'T is a kind youth, but fanciful, 660 
Unfit against the tide to pull, 
And those that with the Bruce 

would sail 
Must learn to strive with stream 

and gale. 
But forward, gentle Isabel — 
My answer for Lord Ronald tell.' 

XXVII 

' This answer be to Ronald given — 
The heart he asks is fixed on 

heaven. 
My love was like a summer flower 
That withered in the wintry hour, 
Born but of vanity and pride, 670 
And with these sunny visions 

died. 
If further press his suit— then 

say 
He should his plighted troth obey, 
Troth plighted both with ring and 

word, 
And sworn on crucifix and 

sword. — 
O, shame thee, Robert! I have 

seen 
Thou hast a woman's guardian 

been ! 
Even in extremity's dread hour, 
When pressed on thee the South- 
ern power, 
And safety, to all human sight, 6S0 
Was only found in rapid flight, 
Thou heard' st a wretched female 

plain 
In agony of travail-pain, 
And thou didst bid thy little band 
Upon the instant turn and stand, 
And dare the worst the foe might 

do 
Rather than, like a knight un- 
true, 
Leave to pursuers merciless 
A woman in her last distress. 
And wilt thou now deny thine 

aid 690 

To an oppressed and injured maid, 
Even plead for Ronald's perfidy 
And press his fickle faith on 

me ? — 



So witness Heaven, as true I vow, 
Had I those earthly feelings now 
Which could my former bosom 

move 
Ere taught to set its hopes above, 
I 'd spurn each proffer he could 

bring 
Till at my feet he laid the ring, 
The ring and spousal contract 

both, 700 

And fair acquittal of his oath, 
By her who brooks his perjured 

scorn, 
The ill-requited Maid of Lorn ! ' 

XXVIII 

With sudden impulse forward 
sprung 

The page and on her neck he 
hung ; 

Then, recollected instantly, 

His head he stooped and bent his 
knee, 

Kissed twice the hand of Isabel, 

Arose, and sudden left the cell. — 

The princess, loosened from his 
hold, 710 

Blushed angry at his bearing bold ; 
But good King Robert cried, 

'Chafe not — by signs he speaks 
his mind, 

He heard the plan my care de- 
signed, 
Nor could his transports hide. — 

But, sister, now bethink thee well; 

No easy choice the convent cell ; 

Trust, I shall play no tyrant part, 

Either to force thy hand or heart, 

Or suffer that Lord Ronald scorn 

Or wrong for thee the Maid of Lorn. 

But think, — not long the time has 
been, 722 

That thou wert wont to sigh un- 
seen, 

And wouldst the ditties best ap- 
prove 

That told some lay of hapless love. 

Now are thy wishes in thy power, 

And thou art bent on cloister 
bower ! 

O, if our Edward knew the change. 



4 66 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



How would his busy satire range, 
With many a sarcasm varied 

still 730 

On woman's wish and woman's 

will ! » — 

XXIX 

' Brother, I well believe,' she said, 
' Even so would Edward's part be 

played. 
Kindly in heart, in word severe, 
A foe to thought and grief and 

fear, 
He holds his humor uncontrolled ; 
But thou art of another mould. 
Say then to Ronald, as I say, 
Unless before my feet he lay 
The ring which bound the faith he 

swore, 740 

By Edith freely yielded o'er, 
He moves his suit to me no more. 
Nor do I promise, even if now 
He stood absolved of spousal vow, 
That I would change my purpose 

made 
To shelter me in holy shade. — 
Brother, for little space, farewell ! 
To other duties warns the bell.' 

XXX 

■ Lost to the world,' King Robert 

said, 
When he had left the royal 
maid, 750 

' Lost to the world by lot severe, 
O, what a gem lies buried here, 
Nipped by misfortune's cruel frost, 
The buds of fair affection lost ! — 
But what have I with love to do ? 
Far sterner cares my lot pursue. 
Pent in this isle we may not lie, 
Nor would it long our wants sup- 
ply. 
Right opposite, the mainland tow- 
ers 
Of my own Turnberry court our 
powers— 760 

Might not my father's beadsman 

hoar, 
Cuthbert, who dwells upon the 
shore, 



Kindle a signal-flame to show 
The time propitious for the blow ? 
It shall be so — some friend shall 

bear 
Our mandate with despatch and 

care; 
Edward shall find the messenger. 
That fortress ours, the island fleet 
May on the coast of Carrick 
meet. — 769 

Scotland ! shall it e'er be mine 
To wreak thy wrongs in battle- 
line, 
To raise my victor-head, and see 
Thy hills, thy dales, thy people 

free, — 
That glance of bliss is all I crave 
Betwixt my labors and my grave ! ' 
Then down the hill he slowly went, 
Oft pausing on the steep descent, 
And reached the spot where his 

bold train 
Held rustic camp upon the plain. 



CANTO FIFTH 



On fair Loch-Ranza streamed 

the early day, 
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke 

are upward curled 
From the lone hamlet which her 

inland bay 
And circliug mountains sever 

from the world. 
And there the fisherman his sail 

unfurled, 
. The goat-herd drove his kids to 

steep Ben-Ghoil, 
Before the hut the dame her spin- 
dle twirled, 
Courting the sunbeam as she 

plied her toil, — 
For, wake where'er he may, man 

wakes to care and coil. 

But other duties called each 
convent maid, 10 

Roused by the summons of the 
moss-grown bell ; 



CANTO FIFTH 



467 



Sung were the matins and the 
mass was said, 

And every sister sought her sep- 
arate cell, 

Such was the rule, her rosary to 
tell. 

And Isabel has knelt in lonely 
prayer ; 

The sunbeam through the nar- 
row lattice fell 

Upon the snowy neck and long 
dark hair, 
As stooped her gentle head in 
meek devotion there. 

11 

She raised her eyes, that duty 

done, 
When glanced upon the pavement 

stone, 20 

Gemmed and enchased, a golden 

ring, 
Bound to a scroll with silken 

string, 
With few brief words inscribed to 

tell, 
' This for the Lady Isabel.' 
Within the writing farther bore, 
'T was with this ring his plight he 

swore, 
With this his promise I restore ; 
To her who can the heart com- 
mand 
Well may I yield the plighted 

hand. 
And 0, for better fortune born, 30 
Grudge not a passing sigh to 

mourn 
Her who was Edith once of Lorn ! ' 
One single flash of glad surprise 
Just glanced from Isabel's dark 

eyes, 
But vanished in the blush of shame 
That as its peuance instant came. 
' O thought unworthy of my race ! 
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and 

base, 
A moment's throb of joy to own 
That rose upon her hopes o'er- 

thrown ! — 40 

Thou pledge of vows too well be- 
lieved, 



Of man ingrate and maid deceived, 

Think not thy lustre here shall 
gain 

Another heart to hope in vain ! 

For thou shalt rest, thou tempting 
gaud, 

Where worldly thoughts are over- 
awed, 

And worldly splendors sink de- 
based.' 

Then by the cross the ring she 
placed. 

in 

Next rose the thought, — its owner 

far, 
How came it here through bolt 

and bar?— 50 

But the dim lattice is ajar. 
She looks abroad, — the morning 

dew 
A light short step had brushed 

anew, 
And there were footprints seen 
On the carved buttress rising 

still, 
Till on the mossy window-sill 

Their track effaced the green. 
The ivy twigs were torn and 

frayed, 
As if some climber's steps to 

aid.— 
But who the hardy messenger 60 
Whose venturous path these signs 

infer? — 
' Strange doubts are mine ! — Mona, 

draw nigh ; — 
Naught 'scapes old Mona's curious 

eye — 
What strangers, gentle mother, 

say, 
Have sought these holy walls to- 
day?' 
4 Xone, lady, none of note or name ; 
Only your brother's foot-page came 
At peep of dawn — I prayed him 

pass 
To chapel where they said the 

mass ; 
But like an arrow he shot by. 70 
And tears seemed bursting from 

his eye.' 



468 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



IV 

The truth at once on Isabel 
As darted by a sunbeam fell ; 

* 'T is Edith's self ! — her speech- 

less woe, 
Her form, her looks, the secret 

show ! — 
Instant, good Mona, to the bay, 
And to my royal brother say, 
I do conjure him seek my cell 
With that mute page he loves so 

well.' 
1 What ! know'st thou not his war- 
like host 80 
At break of day has left our 

coast? 
My old eyes saw them from the 

tower. 
At eve they couched in greenwood 

bower, 
At dawn a bugle signal made 
By their bold lord their ranks ar- 
rayed ; 
Up sprung the spears through 

bush and tree, 
No time for benedicite ! 
Like deer that, rousing from their 

lair, 
Just shake the dewdrops from 

their hair 89 

And toss their armed crest aloft, 
Such matins theirs ! ' — ' Good 

mother, soft — 
Where does my brother bend his 

way ? ' — 

* As I have heard, for Brodick-Bay, 
Across the isle — of barks a score 
Lie there, 'tis said, to waft them 

o'er, 
On sudden news, to Carrick 

shore.' — 
'If such their purpose, deep the 

need,' 
Said anxious Isabel, * of speed ! 
Call Father Augustine, good 

dame.' — 99 

The nun obeyed, the father came. 



* Kind father, hie without delay 
Across the hills to Brodick-Bay. 



This message to the Bruce be 

given ; 
I pray him, by his hopes of Hea- 
ven, 
That till he speak with me he 

stay! 
Or, if his haste brook no delay, 
That he deliver on my suit 
Into thy charge that stripling 

mute. 
Thus prays his sister Isabel 
For causes more than she may 

tell— no 

Away, good father! and take 

heed 
That life and death are on thy 

speed.' 
His cowl the good old priest did 

on, 
Took his piked staff and sandalled 

shoon, 
And, like a palmer bent by eld, 
O'er moss and moor his journey 

held. 

VI 

Heavy and dull the foot "of age, 

And rugged was the pilgrimage ; 

But none were there beside whose 
care 

Might such important message 
bear. 120 

Through birchen copse he wan- 
dered slow, 

Stunted and sapless, thin and low ; 

By many a mountain stream he 
passed, 

From the tall cliffs in tumult cast, 

Dashing to foam their waters dun 

And sparkling in the summer sun. 

Kound his gray head the wild cur- 
lew 

In many a fearless circle flew. 

O'er chasms he passed where frac- 
tures wide 129 

Craved wary eye and ample stride ; 

He crossed his brow beside the 
stone 

Where Druids erst heard victims 
groan, 

And at the cairns upon the wild 



CANTO FIFTH 



469 



O'er many a heathen hero piled, 

He breathed a timid prayer for 
those 

Who died ere Shiloh's sun arose. 

Beside Macfarlane's Cross he 
staid, 

There told his hours within the 
shade 

And at the stream his thirst al- 
layed. 

Thence onward journeying slowly 
still, 14° 

As evening closed he reached the 
hill 

Where, rising through the wood- 
land green, 

Old Brodick's Gothic towers were 
seen. 

From Hastings late, their English 
lord, 

Douglas had won them by the 
sword. 

The sun that sunk behind the isle 

Now tinged them with a parting 
smile. 

YII 

But though the beams of light de- 
cay 
'T was bustle all in Brodick-Bay. 
The Bruce's followers crowd the 
shore, 150 

And boats and barges some un- 
moor, 
Some raise the sail, some seize 

the oar ; 
Their eyes oft turned where glim- 
mered far 
What might have seemed an early 

star 
On heaven's blue arch save that 

its light 
Was all too flickering, fierce, and 
bright. 
Far distant in the south the ray 
Shone pale amid retiring day, 

But as, on Carrick shore, 159 
Dim seen in outline faintly blue, 
The shades of evening closer 
drew, 
It kindled more and more. 



The monk's slow steps now press 

the sands, 
And now amid a scene he stands 
Full strange to churchman's 
eye; 
Warriors, who, arming for the 

fight, 
Kivet and clasp their harness 

light, 
And twinkling spears, and axes 
bright, 
And helmets flashing high. 
Oft too with unaccustomed ears 
A language much unmeet be 
hears, 171 

While, hastening all on board, 
As stormy as the swelling surge 
That mixed its roar, the leaders 

urge 
Their followers to the ocean 
verge 
With many a haughty word. 

Y1II 

Through that wild throng the 

father passed 
And reached the royal Bruce at 

last. 
He leant against a stranded boat 
That the approaching tide must 

float, 180 

And counted every rippling wave 
As higher yet her sides they lave, 
And oft the distant fire he eyed, 
And closer yet his hauberk tied, 
And loosened in its sheath his 

brand. 
Edward and Lennox were at hand, 
Douglas and Ronald had the care 
The soldiers to the barks to 

share. — 
The monk approached and homage 

paid ; 
' And art thou come,' King Robert 

said, 190 

' So far to bless us ere we part ? '— 
' My liege, and with a loyal heart ! — 
But other charge I have to tell,' — 
And spoke the best of Isabel. 
' Now by Saint Giles,' the monarch 

cried, 



470 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



'This moves me much! — this 

morning tide 
I sent the stripling to Saint Bride 
With my commandment there to 

bide.' 
* Thither he came the portress 

showed, 
But there, my liege, made brief 

abode.' — 200 

IX 

"T was 1/ said Edward, 'found 

employ 
Of nobler import for the boy. 
Deep pondering in my anxious 

mind 
A fitting messenger to find 
To bear thy written mandate o'er 
To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore, 
I chanced at early dawn to pass 
The chapel gate to snatch a mass. 
I found the stripling on a tomb 
Low-seated, weeping for the doom 
That gave his youth to convent 

gloom. 2 1 1 

I told my purpose and his eyes 
Flashed joyful at the glad sur- 
prise. 
He bounded to the skiff, the sail 
Was spread before a prosperous 

gale, 
And well my charge he hath 

obeyed ; 
For see ! the ruddy signal made 
That Clifford with his merry-men 

all 
Guards carelessly our father's 

hall.' 

x 

'0 wild of thought and hard of 

heart ! ' 220 

Answered the monarch, 'on a 

part 
Of such deep danger to employ 
A mute, an orphan, and a boy ! 
Unfit for flight, unfit for strife, 
Without a tongue to plead for life ! 
Now, were my right restored by 

Heaven, 
Edward, my crown I would have 

given 



Ere, thrust on such adventure wild, 

I perilled thus the helpless child.' 

Offended half and half submiss,— 

' Brother and liege, of blame like 
this,' 231 

Edward replied, ' I little dreamed. 

A stranger messenger, I deemed, 

Might safest seek the beadsman's 
cell 

Where all thy squires are known 
so well. 

Noteless his presence, sharp his 
sense, 

His imperfection his defence. 

If seen, none can his errand guess ; 

If ta'en, his words no tale ex- 
press— 

Methinks, too, yonder beacon's 
shine 240 

Might expiate greater fault than 
mine.' 

' Rash,' said King Robert, ' was 
the deed — 

But it is done. Embark with 
speed ! — 

Good father, say to Isabel 

How this unhappy chance befell ; 

If well we thrive on yonder shore, 

Soon shall my care her page re- 
store. 

Our greeting to our sister bear, 

And think of us in mass and 
prayer.' 

XI 

'Ay!' said the priest, ' while this 
poor hand 250 

Can chalice raise or cross com- 
mand, 

While my old voice has accents' 
use, 

Can Augustine forget the Bruce ! ' 

Then to his side Lord Ronald 
pressed, 

And whispered, 'Bear thou this 
request, 

That when by Bruce's side I fight 

For Scotland's crown and free- 
dom's right, 

The princess grace her knight to 
bear 



CANTO FIFTH 



471 



Some token of her favoring care ; 
It shall be shown where England's 

best 260 

May shrink to see it on my crest. 
And for the boy — since weightier 

care 
For royal Bruce the times prepare, 
The helpless youth is Ronald's 

charge, 
His couch my plaid, his fence my 

targe.' 
He ceased; for many an eager 

hand 
Had urged the barges from the 

strand. 
Their number was a score and ten, 
They bore thrice threescore chosen 

men. 
With such small force did Bruce 

at last 270 

The die for death or empire cast ! 

XII 

Now on the darkening main afloat, 

Ready and manned rocks every 
boat; 

Beneath their oars the ocean's 
might 

Was dashed to sparks of glimmer- 
ing light. 

Faint and more faint, as off they 
bore, 

Their armor glanced against the 
shore, 

And, mingled with the dashing 
tide, 

Their murmuring voices distant 
died. — 

' God speed them ! ' said the priest, 
as dark 280 

On distant billows glides each 
bark ; 

4 Heaven ! when swords for free- 
dom shine 

And monarch's right, the cause is 
thine ! 

Edge doubly every patriot blow ! 

Beat down the banners of the foe ! 

And be it to the nations known, 

That victory is from God alone ! ' 

As up the hill his path he drew. 



He turned his blessings to renew, 
Oft turned till on the darkened 

coast 290 

All traces of their course were 

lost; 
Then slowly bent to Brodick 

tower 
To shelter for the evening hour. 

XIII 

In night the fairy prospects sink 
Where Cumray's isles with ver- 
dant link 
Close the fair entrance of the 

Clyde ; 
The woods of Bute, no more de- 
scried, 
Are gone — and on the placid 

sea 
The rowers ply their task with 

glee, 
While hands that knightly lances 

bore 300 

Impatient aid the laboring oar. 
The half-faced moon shone dim 

and pale, 
And glanced against the whitened 

sail; 
But on that ruddy beacon-light 
Each steersman kept the helm 

aright, 
And oft, for such the king's com- 
mand, 
That all at once might reach the 

strand, 
From boat to boat loud shout and 

hail 
Warned them to crowd or slacken 

sail. 
South and by west the armada 

bore, 310 

And near at length the Carrick 

shore. 
As less and less the distance 

grows, 
High and more high the beacon 

rose : 
The light that seemed a twinkling 

star 
Now blazed portentous, fierce, and 

far. 



472 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Dark -red the heaven above it 
glowed, 

Dark-red the sea beneath it flowed, 

Red rose the rocks on ocean's 
brim, 

In blood-red light her islets swim ; 

Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl 
gave, 320 

Dropped from their crags on plash- 
ing wave. 

The deer to distant covert drew, 

The black-cock deemed it day and 
crew. 

Like some tall castle given to 
flame, 

O'er half the land the lustre came. 

4 Now, good my liege and brother 
sage, 

What think ye of mine elfin 
page ? ' — 

' Row on ! ' the noble king replied, 

' We '11 learn the truth whate'er 
betide ; 

Yet sure the beadsman and the 
child 330 

Could ne'er have waked that bea- 
con wild.' 

XIV 

With that the boats approached 

the land, 
But Edward's grounded on the 

sand ; 
The eager knight leaped in the 

sea 
Waist-deep and first on shore was 

he, 
Though every barge's hardy band 
Contended which should gain the 

land, 
When that strange light, which 

seen afar 
Seemed steady as the polar star, 
Now, like a prophet's fiery chair, 
Seemed travelling the realms of 

air. 341 

Wide o'er the sky the splendor 

glows 
As that portentous meteor rose ; 
Helm, axe, and falchion glittered 

bright, 



And in the red and dusky light 

His comrade's face each warrior 
saw, 

Nor marvelled it was pale with 
awe. 

Then high in air the beams were 
lost, 

And darkness sunk upon the 
coast. — 

Ronald to Heaven a prayer ad- 
dressed, 350 

And Douglas crossed his daunt- 
less breast; 

' Saint James protect us ! ' Lennox 
cried, 

But reckless Edward spoke aside, 

' Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in 
that flame 

Red Comyn's angry spirit came, 

Or would thy dauntless heart en- 
dure 

Once more to make assurance 
sure ? » 

* Hush ! ' said the Bruce ; * we soon 
shall know 

If this be sorcerer's empty show 

Or stratagem of southern foe. 360 

The moon shines out — upon the 
sand 

Let every leader rank his band.' 

xv 

Faintly the moon's pale beams 

supply 
That ruddy light's unnatural dye ; 
The dubious cold reflection lay 
On the wet sands and quiet bay. 
Beneath the rocks King Robert 

drew 
His scattered files to order due, 
Till shield compact and serried 

spear 
In the cool light shone blue and 

clear. 370 

Then down a path that sought the 

tide 
That speechless page was seen to 

glide ; 
He knelt him lowly on the sand, 
And gave a scroll to Robert's 

hand, 






CANTO FIFTH 



473 



4 A torch,' the monarch cried, 

* What, ho ! 
Now shall we Cuthbert's tidings 

know.' 
But evil news the letters bear, 
The Clifford's force was strong and 

ware, 
Augmented too, that very morn, 
By mountaineers who came with 

Lorn. 380 

Long harrowed by oppressor's 

hand, 
Courage and faith had fled the 

land, 
And over Carrick, dark and deep, 
Had sunk dejection's iron sleep. — 
Cuthbert had seen that beacon 

flame, 
Unwitting from what source it 

came. 
Doubtful of perilous event, 
Edward's mute messenger he sent, 
If Bruce deceived should venture 

o'er, 389 

To warn him from the fatal shore. 

XVI 

As round the torch the leaders 

crowd, 
Bruce read these chilling news 

aloud. 
'What counsel, nobles, have we 

now ? — 
To ambush us in greenwood bough, 
And take the chance which fate 

may send 
To bring our enterprise to end ? 
Or shall we turn us to the main 
As exiles, and embark again ? ' 
Answered fierce Edward, 'Hap 

what may ; 
In Carrick Carrick's lord must 

stay. 400 

I would not minstrels told the tale 
Wildfire or meteor made us quail.' 
Answered the Douglas, * If my 

liege 
May win yon walls by storm or 

siege, 
Then were each brave and patriot 

heart 



Kindled of new for loyal part.' 
Answered Lord Ronald, ' Not for 

shame 
Would I that aged Torquil came 
And found, for all our empty boast, 
Without a blow we fled the coast. 
I will not credit that this land, 411 
So famed for warlike heart and 

hand, 
The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce, 
Will long with tyrants hold a 

truce.' 
' Prove we our fate — the brunt 

we '11 bide ! ' 
So Boyd and Haye and Lennox 

cried ; 
So said, so vowed the leaders all ; 
So Bruce resolved: 'And in my 

hall 
Since the bold Southern make their 

home, 
The hour of payment soon shall 

come, 420 

When with a rough and rugged 

host 
Clifford may reckon to his cost. 
Meantime, through well-known 

bosk and dell 
I'll lead where we may shelter 

well.' 

XVII 

Now ask you whence that won- 

drous light, 
Whose fairy glow beguiled their 

sight? — 
It ne'er was known — yet gray- 
haired eld 
A superstitious credence held 
That never did a mortal hand 
Wake its broad glare on Carrick 

strand ; 430 

Nay, and that on the selfsame 

night 
When Bruce crossed o'er still 

gleams the light. 
Yearly it gleams o'er mount and 

moor 
And glittering wave and crin> 

soned shore — 
But whether beam celestial, lent 



474 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



By Heaven to aid the king's de- 
scent, 
Or fire hell-kindled from beneath 
To lure him to defeat and death, 
Or were it but some meteor strange 
Of such as oft through midnight 
range, 44 o 

Startling the traveller late and 

lone, 
I know not — and it ne'er was 
known. 

XVIII 

Now up the rocky pass they drew, 
And Ronald, to his promise true, 
Still made his arm the stripling's 

stay, 
To aid him on the rugged way. 
4 Now cheer thee, simple Amadine ! 
Why throbs that silly heart of 

thine ? ' — 
That name the pirates to their 

slave — 
In Gaelic 't is the Changeling— 

gave— 450 

1 Dost thou not rest thee on my 

arm ? 
Do not my plaid-folds hold thee 

warm ? 
Hath not the wild bull's treble hide 
This targe for thee and me sup- 
plied ? 
Is not Clan-Colla's sword of steel? 
And, trembler, canst thou terror 

feel? 
Cheer thee, and still that throbbing 

heart ; 
From Ronald's guard thou shalt 

not part' — 
O ! many a shaft at random sent 
Finds mark the archer little 

meant ! 460 

And many a word at random 

spoken 
May soothe or wound a heart 

that 's broken ! 
Half soothed, half grieved, half 

terrified, 
Close drew the page to Ronald's 

side ; 
A wild delirious thrill of joy 



Was in that hour of agony, 

As up the steepy pass he strove, 

Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love ! 

XIX 

The barrier of that iron shore, 
The rock's steep ledge, is now 

climbed o'er ; 470 

And from the castle's distant wall, 
From tower to tower the warders 

call: 
The sound swings over land and 

sea, 
And marks a watchful enemy. — 
They gained the Chase, a wide do- 

main 
Left for the castle's sylvan reign — 
Seek not the scene ; the axe, the 

plough, 
The boor's dull fence, have marred 

it now, 
But then soft swept in velvet green 
The plain with many a glade be- 
tween, 480 
Whose tangled alleys far invade 
The depth of the brown forest 

shade. 
Here the tall fern obscured the 

lawn, 
Fair shelter for the sportive fawn ; 
There, tufted close with copse- 
wood green, 
Was many a swelling hillock seen; 
And all around was verdure meet 
For pressure of the fairies' feet. 
The glossy holly loved the park, 
The yew-tree lent its shadow dark, 
And many an old oak, worn and 

bare, 491 

With all its shivered boughs was 

there. 
Lovely between, the moonbeams 

fell 
On lawn and hillock, glade and 

dell. 
The gallant monarch sighed to see 
These glades so loved in childhood 

free, 
Bethinking that as outlaw now 
He ranged beneath the forest 

bough. 



CANTO FIFTH 



475 



xx 

Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they 

sped. 
Well knew the band that measured 

tread 500 

When, in retreat or in advance, 
The serried warriors move at once ; 
And evil were the luck if dawn 
Descried them on the open lawn. 
Copses they traverse, brooks they 

cross, 
Strain up the bank and o'er the 

moss. 
From the exhausted page's brow 
Cold drops of toil are streaming 

now; 
With effort faint and lengthened 

pause, 
His weary step the stripling draws. 
' Nay, droop not yet ! ' the warrior 

said ; 5 1 x 

1 Come, let me give thee ease and 

aid! 
Strong are mine arms, and little 

care 
A weight so slight as thine to 

bear. — 
What ! wilt thou not ? — capricious 

boy! — 
Then thine own limbs and strength 

employ. 
Pass but this night and pass thy 

care, 
I '11 place thee with a lady fair, 
Where thou shalt tune thy lute to 

tell 
flow Ronald loves fair Isabel ! ' 520 
Worn out, disheartened, and dis- 
mayed, 
Here Amadine let go the plaid ; 
His trembling limbs their aid re- 
fuse, 
He sunk among the midnight 

dews! 

XXI 

What may be done ? — the night is 

gone — 
The Bruce's band moves swiftly 

on — 
Eternal shame if at the brunt 



Lord Ronald grace not battle's 

front ! — 
4 See yonder oak within whose 

trunk 529 

Decay a darkened cell hath sunk ; 
Enter and rest thee there a space, 
Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy 

face. 
I will not be, believe me, far, 
But must not quit the ranks of 

war. 
Well will I mark the bosky 

bourne, 
And soon, to guard thee hence, re- 
turn. — 
Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy ! 
But sleep in peace and wake in 

joy.' 
In sylvan lodging close bestowed, 
He placed the page, and onward 

strode 540 

With strength put forth o'er moss 

and brook, 
And soon the marching band o'er- 

took. 

XXII 

Thus strangely left, long sobbed 

and wept 
The page till wearied out he slept — 
A rough voice waked his dream — 

' Nay, here, 
Here by this thicket passed the 

deer — 
Beneath that oak old Ryno staid — 
What have we here ? — A Scottish 

plaid 
And in its folds a stripling laid? — 
Come forth ! thy name and busi- 
ness tell! 550 
What, silent? — then I guess thee 

well, 
The spy that sought old Cuthbert's 

cell, 
Wafted from Arran yester morn — 
Come, comrades, we will straight 

return. 
Our Lord may choose the rack 

should teach 
To this young lurcher use of 

speech. 



476 



THE LOkD OF THE ISLES 



Thy bow-string, till I bind him 

fast.' — 
4 Nay, but he weeps and stands 

aghast ; 
Unbound we'll lead him, fear it 

not; 
'T is a fair stripling, though a 

Scot' 560 

The hunters to the castle sped, , 
And there the hapless captive led. 

XXIII 

Stout Clifford in the castle-court 
Prepared him for the morning 

sport ; 
And now with Lorn held deep dis- 
course, 
Now gave command for hound 

and horse. 
War-steeds and palfreys pawed 

the ground, 
And many a deer-dog howled 

around. 
To Amadine Lorn's well-known 

word 
Replying to that Southern lord, 570 
Mixed with his clanging din, might 

seem 
The phantasm of a fevered dream. 
The tone upon his ringing ears 
Came like the sounds which fancy 

hears 
When in rude waves or roaring 

winds 
Some words of woe the muser finds, 
Until more loudly and more near 
Their speech arrests the page's 

ear. 

XXIV 

' And was she thus,' said Clifford, 
Most? 

The priest should rue it to his 
cost ! 580 

What says the monk ? ' — 4 The 
holy sire 

Owns that in masquer's quaint 
attire 

She sought his skiff disguised, un- 
known 

To all except to him alone. 



But, says the priest, a bark from 

Lorn 
Laid them aboard that very morn, 
And pirates seized her for their 

prey. 
He proffered ransom gold to pay 
And they agreed — but ere told 

o'er, 
The winds blow loud, the billows 

roar ; 59 o 

They severed and they met no 

more. 
He deems — such tempests vexed 

the coast — 
Ship, crew, and fugitive were lost. 
So let it be, with the disgrace 
And scandal of her lofty race ! 
Thrice better she had ne'er been 

born 
Than brought her infamy on 

Lorn ! > 

XXV 

Lord Clifford now the captive 

spied; — 
' Whom, Herbert, hast thou there ? ' 

he cried. 
1 A spy we seized within the 

Chase, 600 

A hollow oak his lurking-place.' — 
4 What tidings can the youth af- 
ford?'— 
4 He plays the mute.' — 4 Then 

noose a cord — 
Unless brave Lorn reverse the 

doom 
For his plaid's sake.'— 4 Clan-Col- 

la's loom,' 
Said Lorn, whose careless glances 

trace 
Rather the vesture than the face, 
4 Clan-Colla's dames such tartans 

twine ; 
Wearer nor plaid claims care of 

mine. 
Give him, if my advice you crave, 
His own scathed oak ; and let him 

wave 6u 

In air unless, by terror wrung, 
A frank confession find his 

tongue. — 



CANTO FIFTH 



477 



Nor shall he die without his rite ; 
Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight, 
And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy 

breath 
As they convey him to his 

death.' — 
1 O brother ! cruel to the last ! ' 
Through the poor captive's bosom 

passed 
The thought, but, to his purpose 

true, 620 

He said not, though he sighed 

' Adieu ! ' 

XXVI 

And will he keep his purpose still 

In sight of that last closing ill, 

When one poor breath, one single 
word, 

May freedom, safety, life, afford ? 

Can he resist the instinctive call 

For life that bids us barter all? — 

Love, strong as death, his heart 
hath steeled, 

His nerves hath strung — he will 
not yield ! 

Since that poor breath, that little 
word, 630 

May yield Lord Ronald to the 
sword. — 

Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide, 

The griesly headsman 's by his 
side ; 

Along the greenwood Chase they 
bend, 

And now their march has ghastly 
end! 

That old and shattered oak be- 
neath, 

They destine for the place of 
death. 

What thoughts are his, while all 
in vain 

His eye for aid explores the plain ? 

What thoughts, w r hile with a dizzy 
ear 640 

He hears the death-prayer mut- 
tered near ? 

And must he die such death ac- 
curst, 

Or will that bosom-secret burst? 



Cold on his brow breaks terror's 
dew, 

His trembling lips are livid blue ; 

The agony of parting life 

Has naught to match that mo- 
ment's strife ! 

XXVII 

But other witnesses are nigh, 
Who mock at fear, and death defy ! 
Soon as the dire lament was 
played 650 

It waked the lurking ambuscade. 
The Island Lord looked forth and 

spied 
The cause, and loud in fury cried, 
' By Heaven, they lead the page to 

die, 
And mock me in his agony ! 
They shall aby it! ' — On his arm 
Bruce laid strong grasp, 'They 

shall not harm 
A ringlet of the stripling's hair ; 
But till I give the word forbear. 
Douglas, lead fifty of our force 660 
Up yonder hollow water-course, 
And couch thee midway on the 

wold, 
Between the flyers and their hold : 
A spear above the copse displayed, 
Be signal of the ambush made. — 
Edward, with forty spearmen 

straight 
Through yonder copse approach 

the gate, 
And when thou hear'st the battle- 
din 
Rush forward and the passage win, 
Secure the draw T bridge, storm the 
port, 670 

And man and guard the castle- 
court. — 
The rest move slowly forth with 

me, 
In shelter of the forest tree, 
Till Douglas at his post I see.' 

XXVIII 

Like war-horse eager to rush on, 
Compelled to wait the signal 
blown, 



478 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood 


Before, behind, around it came ! 


bough, 


Half-armed, surprised, on every 


Trembling with rage stands Eonald 


side 


now, 


Hemmed in, hewed down, they 


And in his grasp his sword gleams 


bled and died. 


blue, 


Deep in the ring the Bruce en- 


Soon to be dyed with deadlier 


gaged, 


hue. — 680 


And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword 


Meanwhile the Bruce with steady 


raged ! 


eye 


Full soon the few who fought were 


Sees the dark death-train moving 


sped, 


by, 


Nor better was their lot who fled 


And heedful measures oft the 


And met mid terror's wild career 


space 


The Douglas's redoubted spear! 


The Douglas and his band must 


Two hundred yeomen on that 


trace, 


morn 711 


Ere they can reach their destined 


The castle left, and none return. 


ground. 




Now sinks the dirge's wailing 


XXX 


sound, 


Not on their flight pressed Ron- 


Now cluster round the direful 


ald's brand, 


tree 


A gentler duty claimed his hand. 


That slow and solemn company, 


He raised the page where on the 


While hymn mistuned and mut- 


plain 


tered prayer 


His fear had sunk him with the 


The victim for his fate pre- 


slain : 


pare! — 690 


And twice that morn surprise well 


What glances o'er the greenwood 


near 


shade ? 


Betrayed the secret kept by fear ; 


The spear that marks the ambus- 


Once when with life returning 


cade ! — 


came 


4 Now, noble chief ! I leave thee 


To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's 


loose ; 


name, 720 


Upon them, Ronald ! ' said the 


And hardly recollection drowned 


Bruce. 


The accents in a murmuring 




sound ; 


XXIX 


And once when scarce he could re- 


* The Bruce ! the Bruce ! ' to well- 


sist 


known cry 


The chieftain's care to loose the 


His native rocks and woods re- 


vest 


ply. 


Drawn tightly o'er his laboring 


1 The Bruce ! the Bruce ! ' in that 


breast. 


dread word 


But then the Bruce's bugle blew, 


The knell of hundred deaths was 


For martial work was yet to do. 


heard. 




The astonished Southern gazed at 


XXXI 


first 


A harder task fierce Edward waits. 


Where the wild tempest was to 


Ere signal given the castle gates 


burst 700 


His fury had assailed ; 730 


That waked in that presaging 


Such was his wonted reckless 


name. 


mood, 



CANTO FIFTH 



479 



Yet desperate valor oft made 

good, 
Even by its daring, venture rude 
Where prudence might have 

failed. 
Upon the bridge his strength he 

threw, 
And struck the iron chain in two, 

By which its planks arose ; 
The warder next his axe's edge 
Struck down upon the threshold- 
ledge, 
'Twixt door and post a ghastly 

wedge ! 74 o 

The gate they may not close. 
Well fought the Southern in the 

fray, 
Clifford and Lorn fought well that 

day, 
But stubborn Edward forced his 

way 
Against a hundred foes. 
Loud came the cry, ' The Bruce ! 

the Bruce ! ' 
No hope or in defence or truce,— 

Fresh combatants pour in ; 
Mad with success and drunk with 

gore, 
They drive the struggling foe 

before 750 

And ward on ward they win. 
Unsparing was the vengeful 

sword, 
And limbs were lopped and life- 
blood poured, 
The cry of death ana conflict 

roared, 
And fearful was the din ! 
The startling horses plunged and 

flung, 
Clamored the dogs till turrets rung, 

Nor sunk the fearful cry 
Till not a foeman was there found 
Alive save those who on the 

ground 760 

Groaned in their agony ! 

XXXII 

The valiant Clifford is no more ; 
On Ronald's broadsword streamed 
his gore. 



But better hap had he of Lorn, 
Who, by the foeman backward 

borne, 
Yet gained with slender train the 

port 
Where lay his bark beneath the 

fort, 
And cut the cable loose. 
Short were his shrift in that de- 
bate, 
That hour of fury and of fate, 770 

If Lorn encountered Bruce ! 
Then long and loud the victor 

shout 
From turret and from tower rung 

out, 
The rugged vaults replied ; 
And from the donjon tower on 

high 
The men of Carrick may descry 
Saint Andrew's cross in blazonry 
Of silver waving wide ! 

XXXIII 

The Bruce hath won his father's 
hall! — 

1 Welcome, brave friends and com- 
rades all, 780 
Welcome to mirth and joy ! 

The first, the last, is welcome here, 

From lord and chieftain, prince 
and peer, 
To this poor speechless boy, 

Great God! once more my sire's 
abode 

Is mine — behold the floor I trode 
In tottering infancy ! 

And there the vaulted arch whose 
sound 

Echoed my joyous shout and 
bound 

In boyhood, and that rung around 
To youth's unthinking glee ! 791 

0, first to thee, all-gracious Hea- 
ven, 

Then to my friends, my thanks be 
given ! ' — 

He paused a space, his brow he 
crossed — 

Then on the board his sword he 
tossed, 



480 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Yet steaming hot; with Southern 


CANTO SIXTH 


gore 




From hilt to point 't was crimsoned 


I 


o'er. 


who that shared them ever 




shall forget 


XXXIV 


The emotions of the spirit-rous- 


4 Bring here,' he said, * the mazers 


ing time, 


four 


When breathless in the mart the 


My noble fathers loved of yore. 


couriers met 


Thrice let them circle round the 


Early and late, at evening and 


board, 800 


at prime ; 


The pledge, fair Scotland's rights 


When the loud cannon and the 


restored ! 


merry chime 


And he whose lip shall touch the 


Hailed news on news, as field on 


wine 


field was won, 


Without a vow as true as mine, 


When Hope, long doubtful, 


To hold both lands and life at 


soared at length sublime, 


naught 


And our glad eyes, awake as 


Until her freedom shall be 


day begun, 


bought, — 


Watched Joy's broad banner rise 


Be brand of a disloyal Scot 


to meet the rising sun ! 


And lasting infamy his lot ! 




Sit, gentle friends ! our hour of glee 


these were hours when thrill- 


Is brief, we '11 spend it joyously ! 


ing joy repaid 10 


Blithest of all the sun's bright 


A long, long course of darkness, 


beams, 810 


doubts, and fears ! 


When betwixt storm and storm he 


The heart-sick faintness of the 


gleams. 


hope delayed, 


Well is our country's work begun, 


The waste, the woe, the blood- 


But more, far more, must yet be 


shed, and the tears, 


done. 


That tracked with terror twenty 


Speed messengers the country 


rolling years, 


through ; 


All was forgot in that blithe 


Arouse old friends and gather 


jubilee ! 


new ; 


Her downcast eye even pale 
Affliction rears, 


Warn Lanark's knights to gird 


their mail, 


To sigh a thankful prayer amid 


Rouse the brave sons of Teviot- 


the glee 


dale, 


That hailed the Despot's fall, and 


Let Ettrick's archers sharp their 


peace and liberty ! 


darts, 




The fairest forms, the truest 


Such news o'er Scotland's hills 


hearts ! 


triumphant rode 


Call all, call all ! from Reedswair 


When 'gainst the invaders turned 


Path 820 


the battle's scale, 20 


To the wild confines of Cape- 


When Bruce's banner had vic- 


Wrath ; 


torious flowed 


Wide let the news through Scot- 


O'er Loudoun's mountain and in 


land ring, — 


Ury's vale ; 


The Northern Eagle claps his 


When English blood oft deluged 


wing ! ' 


Douglas-dale, 



CANTO SIXTH 



481 



And fiery Edward routed stout 

Saint John, 
When Randolph's war - cry 

swelled the southern gale, 
And many a fortress, town, and 

tower was won, 
And Fame still sounded forth fresh 

deeds of glory done. 

11 
Blithe tidings flew from baron's 

tower 
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower, 
And waked the solitary cell 30 
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses 

dwell. 
Princess no more, fair Isabel, 
A votaress of the order now, 
Say, did the rule that bid thee 

wear 
Dim veil and woollen scapulare, 
And reft thy locks of dark-brown 

hair, 
That stern and rigid vow, 
Did it condemn the transport high 
Which glistened in thy watery 

eye 
When minstrel or when palmer 

told 40 

Each fresh exploit of Bruce the 

bold? — 
And whose the lovely form that 

shares 
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy 

prayers ? 
No sister she of convent shade ; 
So say these locks in lengthened 

braid, 
So say the blushes and the sighs, 
The tremors that unbidden rise, 
When, mingled with the Bruce's 

fame, 
The brave Lord Ronald's praises 

came. 

in 

Believe, his father's castle won 50 
And his bold enterprise begun, 
That Bruce's earliest cares restore 
The speechless page to Arran's 
shore : 



Nor think that long the quaint dis- 
guise 

Concealed her from a sister's 
eyes ; 

And sister-like in love they dwell 

In that lone convent's silent cell. 

There Bruce's slow assent allows 

Fair Isabel the veil and vows ; 

And there, her sex's dress re- 
gained, 60 

The lovely Maid of Lorn re- 
mained, 

Unnamed, unknown, while Scot- 
land far 

Resounded with the din of war ; 

And many a month and many a 
day 

In calm seclusion wore away. 

IV 

These days, these months, to years 
had worn 

When tidings of high weight were 
borne 
To that lone island's shore ; 

Of all the Scottish conquests made 

By the First Edward's ruthless 
blade 70 

His son retained no more, 

Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's 
towers, 

Beleaguered by King Robert's 
powers ; 
And they took term of truce, 

If England's King should not re- 
lieve 

The siege ere John the Baptist's 
eve, 
To yield them to the Bruce. 

England was roused — on every 
side 

Courier and post and herald hied 
To summon prince and peer, 80 

At Berwick-bounds to meet their 
liege, 

Prepared to raise fair Stirling's 
siege 
With buckler, brand, and spear. 

The term was nigh — they mus- 
tered fast, 

By beacon and by bugle-blast 



482 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Forth marshalled for the field ; 
There rode each knight of noble 

name, 
There England's hardy archers 

came, 
The land they trode seemed all on 

flame 89 

With banner, blade, and shield ! 

And not famed England's powers 

alone, 
Renowned in arms, the summons 

own; 
For Neustria's knights obeyed, 
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen 

good, 
And Cambria, but of late subdued, 
Sent forth her mountain-multitude, 
And Connoght poured from waste 

and wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre 

rude 
Dark Eth O'Connor swayed. 



Right to devoted Caledon 100 

The storm of war rolls slowly on 
With menace deep and dread ; 
So the dark clouds with gathering 

power 
Suspend awhile the threatened 

shower, 
Till every peak and summit lower 

Round the pale pilgrim's head. 
Not with such pilgrim's startled 

eye 
King Robert marked the tempest 

nigh ! 
Resolved the brunt to bide, 
His royal summons warned the 

land no 

That all who owned their king's 

command 
Should instant take the spear and 

brand 
To combat at his side. 
O, who may tell the sons of fame 
That at King Robert's bidding 

came 
To battle for the right ! 
From Cheviot to the shores of 

Ross, 



From Solway-Sands to Marshal's- 

Moss, 
All bouned them for the fight. 
Such news the royal courier tells 
Who came to rouse dark Arran's 

dells; I2 i 

But farther tidings must the ear 
Of Isabel in secret hear. 
These in her cloister walk next 

morn 
Thus shared she with the Maid of 

Lorn : — 

VI 

' My Edith, can I tell how dear 
Our intercourse of hearts sincere 

Hath been to Isabel ? — 
Judge then the sorrow of my heart 
When I must say the words, We 

part ! 130 

The cheerless convent-cell 
Was not, sweet maiden, made for 

thee ; 
Go thou where thy vocation free 

On happier fortunes fell. 
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betrayed, 
Though Robert knows that Lorn's 

high maid 
And his poor silent page w r ere one. 
Versed in the fickle heart of man, 
Earnest and anxious hath he 

looked 
How Ronald's heart the message 

brooked 140 

That gave him with her last fare- 

well 
The charge of Sister Isabel, 
To think upon thy better right 
And keep the faith his promise 

plight. 
Forgive him for thy sister's sake 
At first if vain repinings wake — 
Long since that mood is gone : 
Now dwells he on thy juster claims, 
And oft his breach of faith he 

blames— 149 

Forgive him for thine own ! » — 

VII 

1 No ! never to Lord Ronald's bower 
Will I again as paramour ' — 



CANTO SIXTH 



483 



1 Nay, hush thee, too impatient 

maid, 
Until my final tale be said ! — 
The good King Robert would en- 
gage 
Edith once more his elfin page, 
By her own heart and her own eye 
Her lover's penitence to try— 158 
Safe in his royal charge and free, 
Should such thy final purpose be, 
Again unknown to seek the cell, 
And live and die with Isabel.' 
Thus spoke the maid — King Rob- 
ert's eye 
Might have some glance of policy ; 
Dun staff nage had the monarch 

ta'en, 
And Lorn had owned King Rob- 
ert's reign ; 
Her brother had to England fled, 
And there in banishment was dead ; 
Ample, through exile, death, and 

flight, 
O'er tower and land was Edith's 
right; 170 

This ample right o'er tower and 

land 
Were safe in Ronald's faithful 
hand. 

VIII 

Embarrassed eye and blushing 
cheek 

Pleasure and shame and fear be- 
speak ! 

Yet much the reasoning Edith 
made : 

'Her sister's faith she must up- 
braid, 

Who gave such secret, dark and 
dear, 

In counsel to another's ear. 

Why should she leave the peaceful 
cell? — 

How should she part with Isa- 
bel?— 180 

How wear that strange attire 
agen ? — 

How risk herself midst martial 
men ? — 

And how be guarded on the way?— 



At least she might entreat delay.' 
Kind Isabel with secret smile 
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile, 
Reluctant to be thought to move 
At the first call of truant love. 

IX 

0, blame her not ! — when zephyrs 

wake 
The aspen's trembling leaves must 

shake; 190 

When beams the sun through 

April's shower 
It needs must bloom, the violet 

flower ; 
And Love, howe'er the maiden 

strive, 
Must with reviving hope revive ! 
A thousand soft excuses came 
To plead his cause 'gainst virgin 

shame. 
Pledged by their sires in earliest 

youth, 
He had her plighted fafth and 

truth — 
Then, 't was her liege's strict com- 

mand, 
And she beneath his royal hand 200 
A ward in person and in land : — 
And, last, she was resolved to 

stay 
Only brief space— one little day — 
Close hidden in her safe disguise 
From all, but most from Ronald's 

eyes — 
But once to see him more ! — nor 

blame 
Her wish — to hear him name her 

name ! — 
Then to bear back to solitude 
The thought he had his falsehood 

rued! 
But Isabel, who long had seen 210 
Her pallid cheek and pensive 

mien, 
And well herself the cause might 

know, 
Though innocent, of Edith's woe, 
Joyed, generous, that revolving 

time 
Gave means to expiate the crime. 



4§4 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



High glowed her bosom as she 
said, 

4 Well shall her sufferings be re- 
paid ! \ 

Now came the parting hour — a 
band 

From Arran's mountains left the 
land ; 

Their chief, Fitz-Louis, had the 
care 220 

The speechless Amadine to bear 

To Bruce with honor, as behoved 

To page the monarch dearly loved. 



The king had deemed the maiden 
bright 

Should reach him long before the 
fight, 

But storms and fate her course de- 
lay: 

It was on eve of battle-day 

When o'er the Gillie' s-hill she 
rode. 

The landscape like a furnace 
glowed, 229 

And far as e'er the eye was borne 

The lances waved like autumn- 
corn. 

In battles four beneath their 
eye 

The forces of King Robert lie. 

And one below the hill was laid, 

Reserved for rescue and for aid ; 

And three advanced formed va- 
ward-line, 

'Twixt Bannock's brook and Nini- 
an's shrine. 

Detached was each, yet each so 
nigh 

As well might mutual aid supply. 

Beyond, the Southern host ap- 
pears, 240 

A boundless wilderness of spears, 

Whose verge or rear the anxious 
eye 

Strove far, but strove in vain, to 

spy. 
Thick flashing in the evening beam, 
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners 

gleam ; 



And where the heaven joined with 

the hill, 
Was distant armor flashing still, 
So wide, so far, the boundless host 
Seemed in the blue horizon lost. 

XI 

Down from the hill the maiden 

passed, 250 

At the wild show of war aghast ; 
And traversed first the rearward 

host, 
Reserved for aid where needed 

most. 
The men of Carrick and of Ayr, 
Lennox and Lanark too, were 

there, 
And all the western land ; 
With these the valiant of the Isles 
Beneath their chieftains ranked 

their files 

In many a plaided band. 259 

There in the centre proudly raised, 

The Bruce's royal standard blazed, 

And there Lord Ronald's banner 

bore 
A galley driven by sail and oar. 
A wild yet pleasing contrast made 
Warriors in mail and plate arrayed, 
With the plumed bonnet and the 

plaid 

By these Hebrideans worn ; 

But 0, unseen for three long years, 

Dear was the garb of mountaineers 

To the fair Maid of Lorn ! 270 

For one she looked — but he was 

far 
Busied amid the ranks of war — 
Yet with affection's troubled eye 
She marked his banner boldly fly, 
Gave on the countless foe a glance, 
And thought on battle's desperate 

chance. 

XII 

To centre of the vaward-line 

Fitz-Louis guided Amadine. 

Armed all on foot, that host- ap- 
pears 

A serried mass of glimmering 
spears. 280 



CANTO SIXTH 



485 



There stood the Marchers' warlike 

band, 
The warriors there of Lodon's 

land; 
Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew, 
A band of archers fierce though 

few; 
The men of Nith and Annan's vale, 
And the bold Spears of Teviot- 

dale ; — 
The dauntless Douglas these obey, 
And the young Stuart's gentle 

sway. 
Northeastward by Saint Ninian's 

shrine, 
Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, 

combine 290 

The warriors whom the hardy 

North 
From Tay to Sutherland sent forth. 
The rest of Scotland's war-array 
With Edward Bruce to westward 

lay, 
Where Bannock with his broken 

bank 
And deep ravine protects their 

flank. 
Behind them, screened by shelter- 
ing wopd, 
The gallant Keith, Lord Marshal, 

stood : 
His men-at-arms bare mace and 

lance, 
And plumes that wave and helms 

that glance. 300 

Thus fair divided by the king, 
Centre and right and leftward wing 
Composed his front; nor distant 

far 
Was strong reserve to aid the war. 
And 't was to front of this array 
Her guide and Edith made their 

way. 

XIII 

Here must they pause ; for, in ad- 
vance 
As far as one might pitch a lance, 
The monarch rode along the van, 
The foe's approaching force to 
scan, 310 



His line to marshal and to range, 
And ranks to square, and fronts 

to change. 
Alone he rode — from head to 

heel 
Sheathed in his ready arms of 

steel ; 
Nor mounted yet on war-horse 

wight, 
But, till more near the shock of 

fight, 
Reining a palfrey low and light. 
A diadem of gold was set 
Above his bright steel basinet, 
And clasped within its glittering 

twine 320 

Was seen the glove of Argentine ; 
Truncheon or leading staff he 

lacks, 
Bearing instead a battle-axe. 
He ranged his soldiers for the 

fight 
Accoutred thus, in open sight 
Of either host. — Three bowshots 

far, 
Paused the deep front of England's 

war, 
And rested on their arms awhile, 
To close and rank their warlike 

file, 
And hold high council if that night 
Should view the strife or dawning 

light. 33' 

XIV 

O, gay yet fearful to behold, 

Flashing with steel and rough 
with gold, 
And bristled o'er with bills and 
spears, 

With plumes and pennons waving 
fair, 

Was that bright battle-front ! for 
there 
Rode England's king and peers : 

And who, that saw that monarch 
ride, 

His kingdom battled by his side, 

Could then his direful doom fore- 
tell!— 340 

Fair was his seat in knightly selle, 



486 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



And in his sprightly eye was set 
Some spark of the Plantagenet. 
Though light and wandering was 

his glance, 
It flashed at sight of shield and 

lance. 
1 Know'st thou,' he said, ■ De Ar. 

gentine, 
Yon knight who marshals thus 

their line ? ' — 
4 The tokens on his helmet tell 
The Bruce, my liege : I know him 

well.' — 

* And shall the audacious traitor 

brave 350 

The presence where our banners 
wave?' — 

1 So please my liege,' said Argen- 
tine, 

' Were he but horsed on steed like 
mine, 

To give him fair and knightly 
chance, 

I would adventure forth my 
lance.' — 

* In battle-day,' the king replied, 

* Nice tourney rules are set aside. — 
Still must the rebel dare our wrath ? 
Set on him — Sweep him from our 

path ! ' 
And at King Edward's signal soon 
Dashed from the ranks Sir Henry 

Boune. 361 

xv 

Of Hereford's high blood he came, 
A race renowned for knightly fame. 
He burned before his monarch's 

eye 
To do some deed of chivalry. 
He spurred his steed, he couched 

his lance, 
And darted on the Bruce at once. 
As motionless as rocks that bide 
The wrath of the advancing tide, 
The Bruce stood fast. — Each 

breast beat high 370 

And dazzled was each gazing 

eye — 
The heart had hardly time to 

think, 



The eyelid scarce had time to 

wink, 
While on the king, like flash of 

flame, 
Spurred to full speed the war-horse 

came ! 
The partridge may the falcon 

mock, 
If that slight palfrey stand the 

shock — 
But, swerving from the knight's 

career, 
Just as they met, Bruce shunned 

the spear. 
Onward the baffled warrior bore 
His course — but soon his course 

was o'er!— 381 

High in his stirrups stood the 

king, 
And gave his battle-axe the swing. 
Right on De Boune the whiles he 

passed 
Fell that stern dint — the first — 

the last ! — 
Such strength upon the blow was 

put 
The helmet crashed like hazel- 
nut ; 
The axe -shaft with its brazen 

clasp 
Was shivered to the gauntlet 

grasp. 
Springs from the blow the startled 

horse, 390 

Drops to the plain the lifeless 

corse ; 
First of that fatal field, how soon, 
How sudden, fell the fierce De 

Boune ! 

xvi 

One pitying glance the monarch 

sped 
Where on the field his foe lay 

dead; 
Then gently turned his palfrey's 

head, 
And, pacing back his sober way, 
Slowly he gained his own array. 
There round their king the leaders 

crowd, 



CAXTO SIXTH 



487 



And blame his recklessness aloud 

That risked 'gainst each adventu- 
rous spear 401 

A life so valued and so dear. 

His broken weapon's shaft sur- 
veyed 

The king, and careless answer 
made, 

' My loss may pay my folly's tax ; 

I 've broke my trusty battle-axe.' 

'T was then Fitz-Louis bending 
low 

Did Isabel's commission show ; 

Edith disguised at distance stands, 

And hides her blushes with her 
hands. 410 

The monarch's brow has changed 
its hue, 

Away the gory axe he threw, 

While to the seeming page he 
drew, 
Clearing war's terrors from his 
eye. 

Her hand with gentle ease he took 

With such a kind protecting look 
As to a weak and timid boy 

Might speak that elder brother's 
care 

And elder brother's love were 
there. 

XVII 

1 Fear not,' he said, ' young Ama- 

dine ! ' 420 

Then whispered, ' Still that name 

be thine. 
Fate plays her wonted fantasy, 
Kind Amadine, with thee and me, 
And sends thee here in doubtful 

hour. 
But soon we are beyond her 

power ; 
For on this chosen battle-plain, 
Victor or vanquished. I remain. 
Do thou to yonder hill repair ; 
The followers of our host are 

there, 
And all who may not weapons 

bear.— 430 

Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care- 
Joyful we meet, if all go well ; 



If not, in Arran's holy cell 
Thou must take part with Isa- 
bel; 
For brave Lord Ronald too hath 

sworn, 
Not to regain the Maid of Lorn — 
The bliss on earth he covets most — 
Would he forsake his battle-post, 
Or shun the fortune that may fall 
To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. — 
But, hark ! some news these trum- 
pets tell; 441 
Forgive my haste — farewell ! — 

farewell ! ' 
And in a lower voice he said, 
' Be of good cheer — farewell, 
sweet maid ! ' 

XVIII 

1 What train of dust, with trumpet- 
sound 

And glimmering spears, is wheel- 
ing round 

Our leftward flank?' — the mon- 
arch cried 

To Moray's Earl who rode beside. 

' Lo ! round thy station pass the 
foes! 

Randolph, thy wreath hath lost a 
rose.' 450 

The Earl his visor closed, and said 

' My wreath shall bloom, or life 
shall fade. — 

Follow, my household! ' and they 
go 

Like lightning on the advancing 
foe. 

" My liege,' said noble Douglas 
then, 

1 Earl Eandolph has but one to ten : 

Let me go forth his band to aid ! ' — 

' Stir not. The error he hath made, 

Let him amend it as he may ; 

I will not weaken mine array.' 460 

Then loudly rose the conflict-cry, 

And Douglas's brave heart swelled 
high, — 

' My liege,' he said, ' with patient 
ear 

I must not Moray's death-knell 
hear : ' — 



4-88 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



1 Then go — but speed thee back 
again/ 

Forth sprung the Douglas with his 
train :'/...' 

But when they won a rising hill 

He bade his followers hold them 
still. — 

1 See, see! the routed Southern fly ! 

The Earl hath won the victory. 470 

Lo ! where yon steeds run master- 
less, 

His banner towers above the press. 

Rein up ; our presence would im- 
pair 

The fame we come too late to 
share.* 

Back to the host the Douglas rode, 

And soon glad tidings are abroad 

That, Dayncourt by stout Ran- 
dolph slain, 

His followers fled with loosened 
rein. — 

That skirmish closed the busy day, 

And couched in battle's prompt 
array, 480 

Each army on their weapons lay. 

XIX 

It was a night of lovely June, 
High rode in cloudless blue the 

moon, 
Demayet smiled beneath her ray ; 
Old Stirling's towers arose in light, 
And, twined in links of silver 

bright, 
Her winding river lay. 
Ah ! gentle planet ! other sight 
Shall greet thee, next returning 

night, 489 

Of broken arms and banners tore, 
And marshes dark with human 

gore, 
And piles of slaughtered men and 

horse, 
And Forth that floats the frequent 

corse, 
And many a wounded wretch to 

plain 
Beneath thy silver light in vain ! 
But now from England's host the 

cry 



Thou hear'st of wassail revelry, 
While from the Scottish legions 

pass 
The murmured prayer, the early 

mass! — 
Here, numbers had presumption 

given ; 5 oo 

There, bands o'er-matched sought 

aid from Heaven. 

xx 

On Gillie's-hill, whose height com- 
mands 
The battle-field, fair Edith stands 
With serf and page unfit for war, 
To eye the conflict from afar. 
O, with what doubtful agony 
She sees the dawning tint the 

sky! — 
Now on the Ochils gleams the sun, 
And glistens now Demayet dun : 
Is it the lark that carols shrill, 
Is it the bittern's early hum ? 
No ! — distant, but increasing 
still, 512 

The trumpet's sound swells up 
the hill, 
With the deep murmur of the 
drum. 
Responsive from the Scottish host, 
Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were 

tossed, 
His breast and brow each soldier 
crossed 
And started from the ground; 
Armed and arrayed for instant 

fight, 
Rose archer, spearman, squire, 
and knight, 520 

And in the pomp of battle bright 
The dread battalia frowned. 

XXI 

Now onward and in open view 
The countless ranks of England 

drew, 
Dark rolling like the ocean-tide 
When the rough west hath chafed 

his pride, 
And his deep roar sends challenge 

wide 



CANTO SIXTH 



489 



To all that bars his way ! 
In front the gallant archers trode, 
The men-at-arms behind them 

rode, 530 

And midmost of the phalanx 

broad 
The monarch held his sway. 
Beside him many a war-horse 

fumes, 
Around him waves a sea of 

plumes, 
Where many a knight in battle 

known, 
And some who spurs had first 

braced on 
And deemed that fight should see 

them won, 
King Edward's bests obey. 
De Argentine attends his side, 
With stout De Valence, Pem- 
broke's pride, 540 
Selected champions from the train 
To wait upon his bridle-rein. 
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed — 
At once before his sight amazed 

Sunk banner, spear, and shield ; 
Each weapon-point is downward 

sent, 
Each warrior to the ground is bent. 
1 The rebels, Argentine, repent ! 

For pardon they have kneeled.' — 
'Ay! — but they bend to other 

powers, 550 

And other pardon sue than ours ! 
See where yon barefoot abbot 

stands 
And blesses them with lifted 

hands ! 
Upon the spot where they have 

kneeled 
These men will die or win the 

field.' — 
1 Then prove we if they die or win ! 
Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin.' 

XXII 

Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon 

high 
Just as the Northern ranks 

arose, 
Signal for England's archery 560 



To halt and bend their bows. 
Then stepped each yeoman forth 

a pace, 
Glanced at the intervening space, 

And raised his left hand high ; 
To the right ear the cords they 

bring — 
At once ten thousand bow-strings 

ring, 
Ten thousand arrows fly ! 
Nor paused on the devoted Scot 
The ceaseless fury of their shot ; 

As fiercely and as fast 570 

Forth whistling came the gray- 
goose wing 
As the wild hailstones pelt and 

ring 
Adown December's blast. 
Nor mountain targe of tough bull- 
hide, 
Nor lowland mail, that storm may 

bide; 
Woe, woe to Scotland's bannered 

pride, 
If the fell shower may last ! 
Upou the right behind the wood, 
Each by his steed dismounted 

stood 
The Scottish chivalry ; — 580 
With foot in stirrup, hand on mane, 
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce 

restrain 

His own keen heart, his eager train, 

Until the archers gained the plain ; 

Then,' Mount, ye gallants free ! ' 

He cried; and vaulting from the 

ground 
His saddle every horseman found. 
On high their glittering crests they 

toss, 
As springs the wild-fire from the 

moss; 
The shield hangs down on every 

breast, 590 

Each ready lance is in the rest, 

And loud shouts Edward Bruce, 
'Forth, Marshal! on the peasant 

foe ! 
We'll tame the terrors of their 

bow, 
And cut the bow-string loose I ' 



490 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



XXIII 

Then spurs were dashed in 

chargers' flanks, 
They rushed among the archer 

ranks, 
No spears were there the shock to 

let, 
No stakes to turn the charge were 

set, 
And how shall yeoman's armor 

slight 600 

Stand the long lance and mace of 

might ? 
Or what may their short swords 

avail 
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of 

mail? 
Amid their ranks the chargers 

sprung, 
High o'er their heads the weapons 

swuug, 
And shriek and groan and venge- 
ful shout 
Give note of triumph and of rout ! 
Awhile with stubborn hardihood 
Their English hearts the strife 

made good. 
Borne down at length on every 

side, 610 

Compelled to flight they scatter 

wide. — 
Let stags of Sherwood leap for 

glee, 
And bound the deer of Dallom- 

Lee! 
The broken bows of Bannock's 

shore 
Shall in the greenwood ring no 

more ! 
Round Wakefield's merry May- 
pole now 
The maids may twine the summer 

bough, 
May northward look with longing 

glance 
For those that wont to lead the 

dance, 
For the blithe archers look in 

vain ! 620 

Broken, dispersed, in flight o'er- 

ta'en, 



Pierced through, trode down, by 

thousands slain, 
They cumber Bannock's bloody 

plain. 

XXIV 

The king with scorn beheld their 

flight. 
' Are these,' he said, * our yeomen 

wight ? 
Each braggart churl could boast 

before 
Twelve Scottish lives his baldric 

bore! 
Fitter to plunder chase or park 
Than make a manly foe their 

mark. — 
Forward, each gentleman and 

knight! 630 

Let gentle blood show generous 

might 
And chivalry redeem the fight ! ' 
To rightward of the wild affray, 
The field showed fair and level 

way; 
But in mid-space the Bruce's 

care 
Had bored the ground with many 

a pit, 
With turf and brushwood hidden 

yet, 
That formed a ghastly snare. 
Rushing, ten thousand horsemen 

came, 
With spears in rest and hearts on 

flame 640 

That panted for the shock ! 
With blazing crests and banners 

spread, 
And trumpet- clang and clamor 

dread, 
The wide plain thundered to their 

tread 
As far as Stirling rock. 
Down ! down ! in headlong over- 
throw, 
Horseman and horse, the foremost 

go, 
Wild floundering on the field ! 
The first are in destruction's 

gorge, 



CANTO SIXTH 



49 1 



Their followers wildly o'er them 
urge ; — 650 

The knightly helm and shield, 

The mail, the acton, and the 
spear, 

Strong hand, high heart, are use- 
less here ! 

Loud from the mass confused the 
cry 

Of dying warriors swells on high, 

And steeds that shriek in agony ! 

They came like mountain-torrent 
red 

That thunders o'er its rocky bed ; 

They broke like that same tor- 
rent's wave 

When swallowed by a darksome 
cave. 660 

Billows on billows burst and boil, 

Maintaining still the stern turmoil, 

And to their wild and tortured 
groan 

Each adds new terrors of his own ! 

xxv 

Too strong in courage and in 
might 

Was England yet to yield the fight. 
Her noblest all are here ; 

Names that to fear were never 
known, 

Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brother- 
ton, 669 
And Oxford's famed De Vere. 

There Gloster plied the bloody 
sword, 

And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, 
Bottetourt and Sanzavere, 

Ross, Montague, and Mauley 
came, 

And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's 
fame — 

Names known too well in Scot- 
land's war 

At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar, 

Blazed broader yet in after years 

At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. 

Pembroke with these and Argen- 
tine 680 

Brought up the rearward battle- 
line. 



With caution o'er the ground they 

tread, 
Slippery with blood and piled with 

dead, 
Till hand to hand in battle set, 
The bills with spears and axes 

met, 
And, closing dark on every side, 
Paged the full contest far and 

wide. 
Then was the strength of Douglas 

tried, 
Then proved was Randolph's gen- 
erous pride, 
And well did Stewart's actions 

grace 690 

The sire of Scotland's royal race ! 

Firmly they kept their ground ; 

As firmly England onward pressed, 

And down went many a noble 

crest, 
And rent was many a valiant 

breast, 
And Slaughter revelled round. 

XXVI 

Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was 

set, 
Unceasing blow by blow was met ; 

The groans of those who fell 
Were drowned amid the shriller 

clang 700 

That from the blades and harness 

rang, 
And in the battle-yell. 
Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot, 
Both Southern fierce and hardy 

Scot; 
And 0, amid that waste of life 
What various motives fired the 

strife! 
The aspiring noble bled for fame, 
The patriot for his country's claim ; 
This knight his youthful strength 

to prove, 709 

And that to win his lady's love ; 
Some fought from ruffian thirst of 

blood, 
From habit some or hardihood. 
But ruffian stern and soldier good, 
The noble and the slave, 



492 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



From various cause the same wild 

road, 
On the same bloody morning, 

trode 
To that dark inn, the grave ! 

XXVII 

The tug of strife to flag begins, 
Though neither loses yet nor wins. 
High rides the sun, thick rolls the 

dust, 720 

And feebler speeds the blow and 

thrust. 
Douglas leans on his war-sword 

now, 
And Randolph wipes his bloody 

brow; 
Nor less had toiled each Southern 

knight 
From morn till mid-day in the 

fight. 
Strong Egremont for air must 

gasp, 
Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp, 
And Montague must quit his spear, 
And sinks thy falchion, bold De 

Vere ! 
The blows of Berkley fall less 

fast, 730 

And gallant Pembroke's bugle 

blast 
Hath lost its lively tone ; 
Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word, 
And Percy's shout was fainter 

heard, — 
1 My merry-men, fight on ! ' 

XXVIII 

Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye, 
The slackening of the storm could 

spy. 
4 One effort more and Scotland's 

free! 
Lord of the Isles, my trust in 

thee 
Is firm as Ailsa Rock ; 740 

Rush on with Highland sword and 

targe, 
I with my Carrick spearmen 

charge ; 
Now forward to the shock ! ' 



At once the spears were forward 

thrown, 
Against the sun the broadswords 

shone ; 
The pibroch lent its maddening 

tone, 
And loud King Robert's voice was 

known — 
' Carrick, press on — they fail, they 

fail! 
Press on, brave sons of Innisgail, 
The foe is fainting fast ! 750 
Each strike for parent, child, and 

wife, 
For Scotland, liberty, and life, — 
The battle cannot last ! ' 

XXIX 

The fresh and desperate onset bore 
The foes three furlongs back and 

more, 
Leaving their noblest in their gore. 

Alone, De Argentine 
Yet bears on high his red-cross 

shield, 
Gathers the relics of the field, 
Renews the ranks where they 

have reeled, 760 

And still makes good the line. 
Brief strife but fierce his efforts 

raise, 
A bright but momentary blaze. 
Fair Edith heard the Southern 

shout, 
Beheld them turning from the 

rout, 
Heard the wild call their trumpets 

sent 
In notes 'twixt triumph and la- 
ment. 
That rallying force, combined 

anew, 
Appeared in her distracted view 

To hem the Islesmen round ; 770 
' God ! the combat they renew, 

And is no rescue found ! 
And ye that look thus tamely on, 
And see your native land o'er- 

thrown, 
O, are your hearts of flesh or 

stone ? ' 



CANTO SIXTH 



493 



XXX 

The multitude that watched afar, 
Rejected from the ranks of war, 
Had not unmoved beheld the fight 
When strove the Bruce for Scot- 
land's right ; 
Each heart had caught the patriot 

spark, 780 

Old man and stripling, priest and 

clerk, 
Bondsman and serf ; even female 

hand 
Stretched to the hatchet or the 

brand ; 
But when mute Amadine they 

heard 
Give to their zeal his signal-word 

A frenzy fired the throng ; — 
' Portents and miracles impeach 
Our sloth — the dumb our duties 

teach — 
And he that gives the mute his 

speech 
Can bid the weak be strong. 790 
To us as to our lords are given 
A native earth, a promised heaven ; 
To us as to our lords belongs 
The vengeance for our nation's 

wrongs ; 
The choice 'twixt death or free- 
dom warms 
Our breasts as theirs — To arms ! 

to arms ! ' 
To arms they flew, — axe, club, or 

spear, — 
And mimic ensigns high they rear, 
And, like a bannered host afar, 
Bear down on England's wearied 

war. 800 

XXXI 

Already scattered o'er the plain, 

Reproof, command, and counsel 
vain, 

The rearward squadrons fled 
amain 
Or made but doubtful stay ; — 

But when they marked the seem- 
ing show 

Of fresh and fierce and marshalled 
foe, 



The boldest broke away. 
O, give their hapless prince his 

due! 
In vain the royal Edward threw 

His person mid the spears, 810 
Cried, ■ Fight ! ' to terror and de- 
spair, 
Menaced and wept and tore his 
hair, 
And cursed their caitiff fears ; 
Till Pembroke turned his bridle 

rein 
And forced him from the fatal 

plain. 
With them rode Argentine until 
They gained the summit of the 
hill, 
But quitted there the train : — 
1 In yonder field a gage I left, 
I must not live of fame bereft ; 820 

I needs must turn again. 
Speed hence, my liege, for on your 

trace 
The fiery Douglas takes the chase, 

I know his banner well. 
God send my sovereign joy and 

bliss, 
And many a happier field than 
this ! — 
Once more, my liege, farewell ! ' 

XXXII 

Again he faced the battle-field, — 
Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield, 
' Now then,' he said, and couched 
his spear, 830 

' My course is run, the goal is near ; 
One effort more, one brave career, 

Must close this race of mine.' 
Then in his stirrups rising high, 
He shouted loud his battle-cry, 
1 Saint James for Argentine ! ' 
And of the bold pursuers four 
The gallant knight from saddle 

bore ; 
But not unharmed — a lance's 

point 
Has found his breastplate's loos- 
ened joint, 840 
An axe has razed his crest ; 
Yet still on Colon say's fierce lord, 



494 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES 



Who pressed the chase with gory 
sword, 
He rode with spear in rest, 
And through his bloody tartans 
bored 
And through his gallant breast. 
Nailed to the earth, the moun- 
taineer 
Yet writhed him up against the 
spear, 
And swung his broadsword 
round ! 
Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave 
way 850 

Beneath that blow's tremendous 
sway, 
The blood gushed from the 
wound ; 
And the grim Lord of Colonsay 

Hath turned him on the ground, 
And laughed in death-pang that 

his blade 
The mortal thrust so well repaid. 

XXXIII 

Now toiled the Bruce, the battle 

done, 
To use his conquest boldly won ; 
And gave command for horse and 

spear 
To press the Southron* s scattered 

rear, 860 

Nor let his broken force com- 
bine, 
When the war-cry of Argentine 

Fell faintly on his ear ; 
1 Save, save his life,' he cried, ' 0, 

save 
The kind, the noble, and the 

brave ! ' 
The squadrons round free passage 

gave, 
The wounded knight drew near ; 
He raised his red-cross shield no 

more, 
Helm, cuish, and breastplate 

streamed with gore, 869 

Yet, as he saw the king advance, 
He strove even then to couch his 

lance — 
The effort was in vain ! 



The spur-stroke failed to rouse the 

horse ; 
Wounded and weary, in mid course 

He stumbled on the plain. 
Then foremost was the generous 

Bruce 
To raise his head, his helm to 

loose; — 
' Lord Earl, the day is thine ! 
My sovereign's'charge and adverse 

fate 
Have made our meeting all too 

late ; 880 

Yet this may Argentine 
As boon from ancient comrade 

crave — 
A Christian's mass, a soldier's 

grave.' 

XXXIV 

Bruce pressed his dying hand — its 

grasp 
Kindly replied ; but, in his clasp, 

It stiffened and grew cold — 
' And, O farewell ! ' the victor cried, 
' Of chivalry the flower and pride, 

The arm in battle bold, 
The courteous mien, the noble 

race, 890 

The stainless faith, the manly 

face ! — 
Bid Ninian's convent light their 

shrine 
For late-wake of De Argentine. 
O'er better knight on death-bier 

laid 
Torch never gleamed nor mass 

was said ! ' 

XXXV 

Nor for De Argentine alone 

Through Ninian's church these 
torches shone 

And rose the death-prayer's awful 
tone. 

That yellow lustre glimmered pale 

On broken plate and bloodied 
mail, 900 

Rent crest and shattered coro- 
net, 

Of baron, earl, and banneret ; 



CANTO SIXTH 



495 



And the best names that England 

knew 
Claimed in the death-prayer dis- 
mal due. 
Yet mourn not, Land of Fame ! 
Though ne'er the Leopards on thy 

shield 
Retreated from so sad a field 

Since Norman William came. 

Oft may thine annals justly boast 

Of battles stern by Scotland lost ; 

Grudge not her victory 911 

When for her freeborn rights she 

strove ; 
Eights dear to all who freedom 
love, 
To none so dear as thee ! 

xxxvi 

Tarn we to Bruce whose curious 

ear 
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear ; 
With him a hundred voices tell 
Of prodigy and miracle, 

* For the mute page had spoke.' — 
' Page ! ' said Fitz-Louis, ' rather 

say Q20 

An angel sent from realms of day 

To burst the English yoke. 
I saw his plume and bonnet drop 
When hurrying from the mountain 

top; 

A lovely brow, dark locks that 

wave, 
To his bright eyes new lustre gave, 
A step as light upon the green, 
As if his pinions waved unseen ! ' 
' Spoke he with none ? ' — ' With 

none — one word 
Burst when he saw the Island 

Lord 930 

Returning from the battle-field.' — 
' What answer made the chief ? ' — 

1 He kneeled, 
Durst not look up, but muttered 

low 
Some mingled sounds that none 

might know, 
And greeted him 'twixt joy and 

fear 
As being of superior sphere.' 



XXXVII 

Even upon Bannock's bloody plain 
Heaped then with thousands of the 

slain, 
Mid victor monarch's musings 

high, 
Mirth laughed in good King Rob- 
ert's eye : — 940 
1 And bore he such angelic air, 
Such noble front, such waving 

hair? 
Hath Ronald kneeled to him ? ' he 

said; 
' Then must we call the church to 

aid — 
Our will be to the abbot known 
Ere these strange news are wider 

blown, 
To Cambuskenneth straight he 

pass 
And deck the church for solemn 

mass, 
To pay for high deliverance given 
A nation's thanks to gracious 

Heaven. 950 

Let him array besides such state, 
As should on princes' nuptials 

wait. 
Ourself the cause, through for- 
tune's spite, 
That once broke short that spousal 

rite, 
Ourself will grace with early morn 
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn.' 

CONCLUSION 

Go forth, my Song, upon thy 

venturous way ; 
Go boldly forth; nor yet thy 

master blame 
Who chose no patron for his 

humble lay, 
And graced thy numbers with no 

friendly name 
Whose partial zeal might smooth 

thy path to fame. 
There teas — and 0, how many 

sorrows crowd 
Into these two brief words ! — 

there was a claim 



496 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



By generous friendship given — 
had fate allowed, 
It well had bid thee rank the 
proudest of the proud ! 



All angel now — yet little less 

than all 
While still a pilgrim in our world 

below ! 
What 'vails it us that patience 

to recall 



Which hid its own to soothe all 

other woe ; 
What 'vails to tell how Virtue's 

purest glow 
Shone yet more lovely in a form 

so fair : 
And, least of all, what 'vails the 

world should know 
That one poor garland, twined 

to deck thy hair, 
Is hung upon thy hearse to droop 

and wither there ! 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand, 

And Albert rushed on Henry's way-worn band, 

With Europe's chosen sons, in arms renowned, 

Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they looked, 

Nor Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brooked, — 

They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound. 

Akensidb. 



TO 
HER GRACE 

THE 

DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON 

PRINCESS OF WATERLOO 

&C, &C, &C, 
THE FOLLOWING VERSES 
ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY 
THE AUTHOR 



ADVERTISEMENT 

It may be some apology for the imperfections of this poem, that it was com- 
posed hastily, and during a short tour upon the Continent, when the Author's 
labors were liable to frequent interruption ; but its best apology is, that it was 
written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription. 

Abbotspobd, 1815. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



497 



Fair Brussels, thou art far be- 

hind, 
Though, lingering on the morning 
wind, 
We yet may hear the hour 
Pealed over orchard and canal, 
With voice prolonged and mea- 
sured fall, 
From proud Saint Michael's 
tower ; 
Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us 

now, 
Where the tall beeches' glossy 
bough 
For many a league around, 
With birch and darksome oak be- 
tween, IO 
Spreads deep and far a pathless 
screen 
Of tangled forest ground. 
Stems planted close by stems defy 
The adventurous foot— the curi- 
ous eye 
For access seeks in vain ; 
And the brown tapestry of leaves, 
Strewed on the blighted ground, 
receives 
Nor sun nor air nor rain. 
No opening glade dawns on our 

way, 
No streamlet glancing to the ray 

Our woodland path has crossed ; 
And the straight causeway which 
we tread 22 

Prolongs a line of dull arcade, 
Unvarying through the unvaried 
shade 
Until in distance lost. 

11 

A brighter, livelier scene suc- 
ceeds ; 

Iu groups the scattering wood re- 
cedes, 

Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny 
meads, 
And corn-fields glance between ; 

The peasant at his labor blithe 30 

Plies the hooked staff and short- 
ened scythe : — 



But when these ears were 
green, 
Placed close within destruction's 

scope, 
Full little was that rustic's hope 

Their ripening to have seen ! 
And, lo ! a hamlet and its fane : — 
Let not the gazer with disdain 

Their architecture view; 
For yonder rude ungraceful shrine 
And disproportioned spire are 
thine, 40 

Immortal Waterloo ! 

in 

Fear not the heat, though full and 

high 
The sun has scorched the autumn 

sky, 
And scarce a forest straggler now 
To shade us spreads a greenwood 

bough ; 
These fields have seen a hotter 

day 
Than e'er was fired by sunny ray. 
Yet one mile on — yon shattered 

hedge 
Crests the soft hill whose long 

smooth ridge 
Looks on the field below, 50 
And sinks so gently on the dale 
That not the folds of Beauty's veil 

In easier curves can flow. 
Brief space from thence the 

ground again 
Ascending slowly from the plain 

Forms an opposing screen, 
Which with its crest of upland 

ground 
Shuts the horizon all around. 
The softened vale between 
Slopes smooth and fair for cours- 
er's tread ; 60 
Not the most timid maid need 

dread 
To give her snow-white palfrey 

head 
On that wide stubble-ground : 
Nor wood nor tree nor bush are 

there, 
Her course to intercept or scare, 



498 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



Nor fosse nor fence are found, 
Save where from out her shattered 

bowers 
Rise Hougomont's dismantled 

towers. 

rv 

Now, see'st thou aught in this lone 

scene 
Can tell of that which late hath 

been?— 70 

A stranger might reply, 
* The bare extent of stubble-plain ; 
Seems lately lightened of its grain 
And yonder sable tracks remain 
Marks of the peasant's ponderous 

wain 
When harvest home was nigh. 
On these broad spots of trampled 

ground 
Perchance the rustics danced such 

round 
As Teniers loved to draw ; 
And where the earth seems 

scorched by flame, 80 

To dress the homely feast they 

came, 
And toiled the kerchiefed village 

dame 
Around her fire of straw.* 



Sodeem'stthou — so each mortal 

deems 
Of that which is from that which 
seems: — 
But other harvest here 
Than that which peasant's scythe 

demands 
Was gathered in by sterner hands, 
With bayonet, blade, and spear. 
No vulgar crop was theirs to reap, 
No stinted harvest thin and cheap ! 
Heroes before each fatal sweep 92 

Fell thick as ripened grain ; 
And ere the darkening of the 

day, 
Piled high as autumn shocks there 

lay 
The ghastly harvest of the fray, 
The corpses of the slain. 



VI 

Ay, look again — that line so black 
And trampled marks the biv- 
ouac, 
Yon deep-graved ruts the artil- 
lery's track, 1 00 
So often lost and won; 
And close beside the hardened 

mud 
Still shows where, fetlock-deep in 

blood, 
The fierce dragoon through bat- 
tie's flood 
Dashed the hot war-horse on. 
These spots of excavation tell 
The ravage of the bursting shell — 
And feel'st thou not the tainted 

steam 
That reeks against the sultry 
beam 109 

From yonder trenched mound? 
The pestilential fumes declare 
That Carnage has replenished 
there 
Her garner-house profound. 

VII 

Far other harvest-home and feast 

Than claims the boor from scythe 
released 
On these scorched fields were 
knownj! 

Death hovered o'er the maddening 
rout, 

And in the thrilling battle-shout 

Sent for the bloody banquet out 
A summons of his own. 120 

Through rolling smoke the De- 
mon's eye 

Could well each destined guest 
espy, 

Well could his ear in ecstasy 
Distinguish every tone 

That filled the chorus of the fray— 

From cannon -roar and trumpet- 
bray, 

From charging squadrons' wild 
hurra, 

From the wild clang that marked 
their way,— 
Down to the dying groan 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



499 



And the last sob of life's decay 130 
When breath was all but flown. 

VIII 

Feast on, stern foe of mortal life, 
Feast on ! — but think not that a 

strife 
With such promiscuous carnage 
rife 
Protracted space may last ; 
The deadly tug of war at length 
Must limits find in human strength, 
And cease when these are past. 
Vain hope ! — that morn's o'er- 

clouded sun 
Heard the wild shout of fight be- 
gun 140 
Ere he attained his height, 
And through the war-smoke vol- 

umed high 
Still peals that unremitted cry, 

Though now he stoops to night. 
For ten long hours of doubt and 

dread, 
Fresh succors from the extended 

head 
Of either hill the contest fed ; 

Still down the slope they drew, 
The charge of columns paused 

not, 
Nor ceased the storm of shell and 
shot; 150 

For all that war could do 
Of skill and force was proved that 

day, 
And turned not yet the doubtful 
fray 
On bloody Waterloo. 

IX 

Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts 

were thine, 
When ceaseless from the distant 

line 
Continued thunders came ! 
Each burgher held his breath to 

hear 
These forerunners of havoc near, 
Of rapine and of flame. 160 

What ghastly sights were thine to 

meet, 



When, rolling through thy stately 

street, 
The wounded showed their man- 

gled plight 
In token of the unfinished fight, 
And from each anguish-laden wain 
The blood-drops laid thy dust like 

rain ! 
How often in the distant drum 
Heard' st thou the fell invader 

come, 
While Ruin, shouting to his band, 
Shook high her torch and gory- 
brand ! — 170 
Cheer thee, fair city ! From yon 

stand 
Impatient still his outstretched 

hand 
Points to his prey in vain, 
While, maddening in his eager 

mood 
And all unwont to be withstood. 
He fires the fight again. 



' On ! On ! ♦ was still his stern ex- 
claim ; 
' Confront the battery's jaws of 

flame ! 

Rush on the levelled gun ! 179 

My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance ! 

Each Hulan forward with his lance, 

My Guard — my chosen — charge 

for France, 
France and Napoleon ! ' 
Loud answered their acclaiming 

shout, 
Greeting the mandate which sent 

out 
Their bravest and their best to 

dare 
The fate their leader shunned to 

share. 
But He, his country's sword and 

shield, 
Still in the battle-front revealed 
Where danger fiercest swept the 

field, 190 

Came like a beam of light, 
| In action prompt, in sentence 
1 brief— 



500 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



' Soldiers, stand firm ! ' exclaimed 
the chief, 
4 England shall tell the fight ! ' 

XI 

On came the whirlwind -— like the 
last 

But fiercest sweep of tempest- 
blast— 

On came the whirlwind — steel- 
gleams broke 

Like lightning through the rolling 
smoke ; 
The war was waked anew, 

Three hundred cannon - mouths 
roared loud, 200 

And from their throats with flash 
and cloud 
Their showers of iron threw. 

Beneath their fire in full career 

Rushed ou the ponderous cuiras- 
sier, 

The lancer couched his ruthless 
spear, 

And hurrying as to havoc near 
The cohorts' eagles flew. 

In one dark torrent broad and 
strong 

The advancing onset rolled along, 

Forth harbiugered by fierce ac- 
claim, 210 

That from the shroud of smoke 
and flame 

Pealed wildly the imperial name. 

XII 

But on the British heart were lost 

The terrors of the charging host : 

For not an eye the storm that 
viewed 

Changed its proud glance of forti- 
tude, 

Nor was one forward footstep 
staid, 

As dropped the dying and the 
dead. 

Fast as their ranks the thunders 
tear, 

Fast they renewed each serried 
square ; 220 

And on the wounded and the slain 



Closed their diminished files again, 

Till from their line scarce spears' 
lengths three 

Emerging from the smoke they 
see 

Helmet and plume and panoply — 
Then waked their fire at once ! 

Each musketeer's revolving knell, 

As fast, as regularly fell, 

As when they practise to display 

Their discipline on festal day. 230 
Then down went helm and lance, 

Down were the eagle banners sent, 

Down reeling steeds and riders 
went, 

Corselets were pierced and pen- 
nons rent ; 
And to augment the fray, 

Wheeled full against their stagger- 
ing flanks, 

The English horsemen's foaming 
ranks 
Forced their resistless way. 

Then to the musket-knell succeeds 

The clash of swords, the neigh of 
steeds 240 

As plies the smith his clanging 
trade, 

Against the cuirass rang the 
blade ; 

And while amid their close array 

The well-served cannon rent their 
way, 

And while amid their scattered 
band 

Raged the fierce rider's bloody 
* brand, 

Recoiled in common rout and fear 

Lancer and guard and cuirassier, 

Horsemen and foot, — a mingled 
host, 

Their leaders fallen, their stand- 
ards lost. 250 

XIII 

Then, Wellington ! thy piercing 

eye 
This crisis caught of destiny — 

The British host had stood 
That morn 'gainst charge of sword 

and lance 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



501 



As their own ocean rocks hold 

stance, 
But when thy voice had said, ■ Ad- 
vance ! ' 
They were their ocean's flood.— 
O thou whose inauspicious aim 
Hath wrought thy host this hour 

of shame, 
Think' st thou thy broken bands 

will bide 260 

The terrors of yon rushing tide ? 
Or will thy chosen brook to feel 
The British shock of levelled 

steel ? 
Or dost thou turn thine eye 
Where coming squadrons gleam 

afar, 
And fresher thunders wake the 

war, 
And other standards fly?— 
Think not that in yon columns file 
Thy conquering troops from dis- 
tant Dyle — 
Is Blucher yet unknown? 270 
Or dwells not in thy memory still, 
Heard frequent in thine hour of ill, 
What notes of hate and vengeance 

thrill 
In Prussia's trumpet tone? — 
What yet remains ? — shall it be 

thine 
To head the relics of thy line 

In one dread effort more ? — 
The Roman lore thy leisure loved, 
And thou canst tell what fortune 

proved 
That chieftain who of yore 2 So 
Ambition's dizzy paths essayed, 
And with the gladiators' aid 
For empire enterprised — 
He stood the cast his rashness 

played, 
Left not the victims he had made, 
Dug his red grave with his own 

blade, 
And on the field he lost was laid, 
Abhorred — but not despised. 

XIV 

But if revolves thy fainter thought 
On safety — howsoever bought — 



Then turn thy fearful rein and 
ride, 291 

Though twice ten thousand men 
have died 
On this eventful day, 
To gild the military fame 
Which thou for life in traffic tame 

Wilt barter thus away. 
Shall future ages tell this tale 
Of inconsistence faint and frail ? 
And art thou he of Lodi's bridge, 
Marengo's field, and Wagram's 
ridge ! 300 

Or is thy soul like mountain-tide 
That, swelled by winter storm and 

shower, 
Rolls down in turbulence of power 

A torrent fierce and wide ; 
Reft of these aids, a rill obscure, 
Shrinking unnoticed, mean and 
poor, 
Whose channel shows displayed 
The wrecks of its impetuous 

course, 
But not one symptom of the force 
By which these wrecks were 
made! 310 

xv 

Spur on thy way ! — since now 

thine ear 
Has brooked thy veterans' wish to 
hear, 
Who as thy flight they eyed 
Exclaimed— while tears of an- 
guish came, 
Wrung forth by pride and rage 
and shame — 
4 O, that he had but died ! ' 
But yet, to sum this hour of ill, 
Look ere thou leavest the fatal 
hill 
Back on yon broken ranks — 
Upon whose wild confusion gleams 
The moon, as on the troubled 
streams 321 

When rivers break their banks, 
And to the ruined peasant's eye 
Objects half seen roll swiftly by, 

Down the dread current hurled — 
So mingle banner, wain, and gun, 



502 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



Where the tumultuous flight rolls 
on 

Of warriors who when morn be- 
gun 
Defied a banded world. 

XVI 

List — frequent to the hurrying 

rout, 330 

The stern pursuers' vengeful 

shout 
Tells that upon their broken rear 
Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. 

So fell a shriek was none 
When Beresina's icy flood 
Reddened and thawed with flame 

and blood 
And, pressing on thy desperate 

way, 
Raised oft and long their wild 

hurra 
The children of the Don. 
Thine ear no yell of horror cleft 
So ominous when, all bereft 341 
Of aid, the valiant Polack left — 
Ay, left by thee — found soldier's 

grave 
In Leipsic's corpse -encumbered 

wave. 
Fate, in these various perils past, 
Reserved thee still some future 

cast; 
On the dread die thou now hast 

thrown 
Hangs not a single field alone, 
Nor one campaign — thy martial 

fame, 
Thy empire, dynasty, and name, 

Have felt the final stroke ; 351 
And now o'er thy devoted head 
Thy last stern vial's wrath is shed, 
The last dread seal is broke. 

XVII 

Since live thou wilt — refuse not 

now 
Before these demagogues to bow, 
Late objects of thy scorn and hate, 
Who shall thy once imperial fate 
Make wordy theme of vain de- 
bate. -— 



Or shall we say thou stoop'st less 

low 360 

In seeking refuge from the foe, 
Against whose heart in prosper- 
ous life 
Thine hand hath ever held the 

knife ? 
Such homage hath been paid 
By Roman and by Grecian voice, 
And there were honor in the 

choice, 
If it were freely made. 
Then safely come — in one so 

low, — 
So lost, — we cannot own a foe ; 
Though dear experience bid us 

end, 370 

In thee we ne'er can hail a 

friend. — 
Come, howsoe'er — but do not hide 
Close in thy heart that germ of 

pride 
Ere while by gifted bard espied, 

That ' yet imperial hope ; ' 
Think not that for a fresh re- 

bound, 
To raise ambition from the ground, 

We yield thee means or scope. 
In safety come — but ne'er again 
Hold type of independent reign ; 

No islet calls thee lord, 381 

We leave thee no confederate 

band, 
No symbol of thy lost command, 
To be a dagger in the hand 
From which we wrenched the 

sword. 

XVIII 

Yet, even in yon sequestered spot, 
May worthier conquest be thy lot 

Than yet thy life has known ; 
Conquest uubought by blood or 

harm, 
That needs nor foreign aid nor 

arm, 390 

A triumph all thine own. 
Such waits thee when thou shalt 

control 
Those passions wild, that stub- 

born soul, 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



503 



That marred thy prosperous 

scene : — 
Hear this — from no unmoved 

heart. 
Which sighs, comparing what 

THOU ART 

With what thou mightst have 

BEEN I 

XIX 

Thou, too, whose deeds of fame 

renewed 
Bankrupt a nation's gratitude, 
To thine own noble heart must 
owe 400 

More than the meed she can be- 
stow. 
For not a people's just acclaim, 
Not the full hail of Europe's fame, 
Thy prince's smiles, thy state's 

decree, 
The ducal rank, the gartered knee, 
Not these such pure delight afford 
As that, when hanging up thy 

sword, 
Well mayst thou think, ' This hon- 
est steel 
Was ever drawn for public weal; 
And, such was rightful Heaven's 
decree, 410 

Ne'er sheathed unless with vic- 
tory l ' 

xx 

Look forth once more with soft- 
ened heart 
Ere from the field of fame we 

part ; 
Triumph and sorrow border near, 
And joy oft melts into a tear. 
Alas ! what links of love that morn 
Has War's rude hand asunder 

torn ! 
For ne'er was field so sternly 

fought, 
And ne'er was conquest dearer 

bought. 
Here piled in common slaughter 

sleep 420 

Those whom affection long shall 

weep : 



Here rests the sire that ne'er shall 
strain 

His orphans to his heart again; 

The son whom on his native shore 

The parent's voice shall bless no 
more ; 

The bridegroom who has hardly 
pressed 

His blushing consort to his breast; 

The husband whom through many 
a year 

Long love and mutual faith en- 
dear. 

Thou canst not name one tender 
tie 430 

But here dissolved its relics lie ! 

0, when thou see'st some mourn- 
er's veil 

Shroud her thin form and visage 
pale, 

Or mark'st the matron's bursting 
tears 

Stream when the stricken drum 
she hears, 

Or see'st how manlier grief sup- 
pressed 

Is laboring in a father's breast,— 

With no inquiry vain pursue 

The cause, but think on Waterloo ! 

XXI 

Period of honor as of woes, 440 
What bright careers 'twas thine 

to close ! — 
Marked on thy roll of blood what 

names 
To Briton's memory and to Fame's 
Laid there their last immortal 

claims ! 
Thou saw' st in seas of gore expire 
Redoubted Picton's soul of fire — 
Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie 
All that of Poxsoxby could die — 
De Lance y change Love's bridal- 
wreath 
For laurels from the hand of 

Death — 450 

Saw'st gallant Miller's failing 

eye 
Still bent where Albion's banners 

fly. 



5°4 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



And Cameron in the shock of 

steel 
Die like the offspring of Lochiel ; 
And generous Gordon mid the 

strife 
Fall while he watched his leader's 

life. — 
Ah! though her guardian angel's 

shield 
Fenced Britain's hero through the 

field, 
Fate not the less her power made 

known 
Through his friends' hearts to 

pierce his own ! 460 

XXII 

Forgive, brave dead, the imperfect 

lay! 
Who may your names, your num- 
bers, say ? 
What high-strung harp, what lofty 

line, 
To each the dear-earned praise 

assign, 
From high-born chiefs of martial 

fame 
To the poor soldier's lowlier name ; 
Lightly ye rose that dawning day 
From your cold couch of swamp 

and clay, 
To fill before the sun was low 
The bed that morning cannot 

know. — 470 

Oft may the tear the green sod 

steep, 
And sacred be the heroes' sleep 

Till time shall cease to run ; 
And ne'er beside their noble grave 
May Briton pass and fail to crave 
A blessing on the fallen brave 
Who fought with Wellington ! 

XXIII 

Farewell, sad field ! whose blighted 

face 
Wears desolation's withering 

trace ; 
Long shall my memory retain 480 
Thy shattered huts and trampled 

grain, 



With every mark of martial wrong, 

That scathe thy towers, fair Hou- 
gomont ! 

Yet though thy garden's green ar- 
cade 

The marksman's fatal post was 
made, 

Though on thy shattered beeches 
fell 

The blended rage of shot and 
shell, 

Though from thy blackened por- 
tals torn 

Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees 
mourn, 

Has not such havoc bought a 
name 490 

Immortal in the rolls of fame ? 

Yes — Agincourt may be forgot, 

And Cressy be an unknown spot, 
And Blenheim's name be new ; 

But still in story and in song, 

For many an age remembered long, 

Shall live the towers of Hougo- 
mont 
And Field of Waterloo. 



CONCLUSION 

Stern tide of human time ! that 

know'st not rest, 
But, sweeping from the cradle 

to the tomb, 
Bear'st ever downward on thy 

dusky breast 
Successive generations to their 

doom ; 
While thy capacious stream has 

equal room 
For the gay bark where Plea- 
sure's streamers sport 
And for the prison-ship of guilt 

and gloom, 
The fisher-skiff and barge that 

bears a court, 
Still wafting onward all to one 

dark silent port ; — - 

Stern tide of time ! through what 
mysterious change 10 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO 



505 



Of hope and fear have our frail 

harks been driven ! 
For ne'er before vicissitude so 

strange 
Was to one race of Adam's off- 
spring given. 
And sure such varied change of 

sea and heaven, 
Such unexpected bursts of joy 

and woe, 
Such fearful strife as that where 

we have striven, 
Succeeding ages ne'er again shall 

know 
Until the awful term when thou 

shalt cease to flow. 

Well hast thou stood, my Coun- 
try ! — the brave fight 

Hast well maintained through 
good report and ill : 20 

In thy just cause and in thy na- 
tive might, 

And in Heaven's grace and jus- 
tice constant still ; 

Whether the banded prowess, 
strength, and skill 

Of half the world against thee 
stood arrayed, 

Or when with better views and 
freer will 

Beside thee Europe's noblest 
drew the blade, 
Each emulous in arms the Ocean 
Queen to aid. 

Well art thou now repaid — 

though slowly rose, 
And struggled long with mists 

thy blaze of fame, 
While like the dawn that in the 

orient glows 30 

On the broad wave its earlier 

lustre came ; 
Then eastern Egypt saw the 

growing flame, 



And Maida's myrtles gleamed 
beneath its ray, 

Where first the soldier, stung 
with generous shame, 

Rivalled the heroes of the wa- 
tery way, 
And washed in foemen's gore un- 
just reproach away. 

Now, Island Empress, wave thy 

crest on high, 
And bid the banner of thy Pa- 
tron flow, 
Gallant Saint George, the flower 

of chivalry, 
For thou hast faced like him a 

dragon foe, 40 

And rescued innocence from 

overthrow, 
And trampled down like him 

tyrannic might, 
And to the gazing world mayst 

proudly show 
The chosen emblem of thy 

sainted knight, 
Who quelled devouring pride and 

vindicated right. 

Yet mid the confidence of just 

renown, 
Renown dear-bought, but dear- 
est thus acquired, 
Write, Britain, write the moral 

lesson down : 
? T is not alone the heart with 

valor fired, 
The discipline so dreaded and 

admired, 50 

In many a field of bloody con- 

quest known; — 
Such may by fame be lured, by 

gold be hired — 
'T is constancy in the good cause 

alone 
Best justifies the meed thy valiant 

sons have won. 



506 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 

HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS 

INTRODUCTION 

There is a mood of mind we all have known 
On drowsy eve or dark and lowering day, 
When the tired spirits lose their sprightly tone 
And naught can chase the lingering hours away. 
Dull on our soul falls Fancy's dazzling ray, 
And Wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain, 
Obscured the painting seems, mistimed the lay, 
Nor dare we of our listless load complain, 
For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell of pain ? 

The jolly sportsman knows such drearihood 10 

When bursts in deluge the autumnal rain, 
Clouding that morn which threats the heath-cock's brood ; 
Of such in summer's drought the anglers plain, 
Who hope the soft mild southern shower in vain ; 
But more than all the discontented fair, 
Whom father stern and sterner aunt restrain 
From county-ball or race occurring rare, 
While all her friends around their vestments gay prepare. 

Ennui ! — or, as our mothers called thee, Spleen ! 
To thee we owe full many a rare device ; — 20 

Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween, 
The rolling billiard-ball, the rattling dice, 
The turning-lathe for framing gimcrack nice ; 
The amateur's blotched pallet thou mayst claim, 
Retort, and air-pump, threatening frogs and mice — 
Murders disguised by philosophic name — 
And much of trifling grave and much of buxom game. 

Then of the books to catch thy drowsy glance 
Compiled, what bard the catalogue may quote ! 
Plays, poems, novels, never read but once ; — 30 

But not of such the tale fair Edgeworth wrote. 
That bears thy name and is thine antidote ; 
And not of such the strain my Thomson sung, 
Delicious dreams inspiring by his note, 
What time to Indolence his harp he strung ; — 
0, might my lay be ranked that happier list among ! 

Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. 

For me, I love my study fire to trim, 

And con right vacantly some idle tale, 

Displaying on the couch each listless limb, 40 



CANTO FIRST 



507 



Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim 
And doubtful slumber half supplies the theme ; 
While antique shapes of knight and giant grim, 
Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam, 
And the romancer's tale becomes the reader's dream. 

'T is thus my malady I well may bear, 
Albeit outstretched, like Pope's own Paridel, 
Upon the rack of a too-easy chair ; 
And find to cheat the time a powerful spell 
In old romaunts of errantry that tell, 
Or later legends of the Fairy-folk, 
Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell, 
Of Genii, Talisman, and broad-winged Roc, 
Though taste may blush and frown, and sober reason mock. 

Oft at such season too will rhymes unsought 
Arrange themselves in some romantic lay, 
The which, as things unfitting graver thought, 
Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day. — 
These few survive — and, proudly let me say, 
Court not the critic's smile nor dread his frown; 
They well may serve to while an hour away, 
Nor does the volume ask for more renown 
Than Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops it down. 



50 



60 



CANTO FIRST 

I 

List to the valorous deeds that 

were done 
By Harold the Dauntless, Count 

Witikind's son ! 

Count Witikind came of a regal 

strain, 
And roved with his Norsemen the 

laud and the main. 
Woe to the realms which he 

coasted ! for there 
Was shedding of blood and rend- 
ing of hair, 
Rape of maiden and slaughter of 

priest, 
Gathering of ravens and wolves to 

the feast : 
When he hoisted his standard 

black, 
Before him was battle, behind him 

wrack, 10 



And he burned the churches, that 

heathen Dane, 
To light his band to their barks 

again. 

11 
On Erin's shores was his outrage 

known, 
The winds of France had his ban- 

ners blown ; 
Little was there to plunder, yet 

still 
His pirates had forayed on Scot- 

tish hill : 
But upon merry England's coast 
More frequent he sailed, for he 

won the most. 
So wide and so far his ravage they 

knew, 
If a sail but gleamed white 'gainst 

the welkin blue, 20 

Trumpet and bugle to arms did 

call, 
Burghers hastened to man the 

wall, 



508 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



Peasants fled inland his fury to 
'scape, 

Beacons were lighted on headland 
and cape, 

Bells were tolled out, and aye as 
they rung 

Fearful and faintly the gray bro- 
thers sung, 

1 Bless us, Saint Mary, from flood 
and from fire, 

From famine and pest, and Count 
Witikind's ire ! ' 

in 

He liked the wealth of fair Eng- 
land so well 

That he sought in her bosom as 
native to dwell. 30 

He entered the Humber in fearful 
hour 

And disembarked with his Danish 
power. 

Three earls came against him with 
all their train, — 

Two hath he taken and one hath 
he slain. 

Count Witikind left the Humber 's 
rich strand, 

And he wasted and warred in 
Northumberland. 

But the Satfon king was a sire in 
age, 

Weak in battle, in council sage ; 

Peace of that heathen leader he 
sought, 

Gifts he gave and quiet he bought ; 

And the count took upon him the 
peaceable style 41 

Of a vassal and liegeman of Brit- 
on's broad isle. 

IV 

Time will rust the sharpest sword, 
Time will consume the strongest 

cord; 
That which moulders hemp and 

steel 
Mortal arm and nerve must 

feel. 
Of the Danish band whom Count 

Witikind led 



Many waxed aged and many were 

dead: 
Himself found his armor full 

weighty to bear, 
Wrinkled his brows grew and 

hoary his hair ; 50 

He leaned on a staff when his step 

went abroad, 
And patient his palfrey when 

steed he bestrode. 
As he grew feebler, his wildness 

ceased, 
He made himself peace with pre- 
late and priest, 
Made his peace, and stooping his 

head 
Patiently listed the counsel they 

said: 
Saint Cuthbert's Bishop was holy 

and grave, 
Wise and good was the counsel he 

gave. 



' Thou hast murdered, robbed, and 
spoiled, 

Time it is thy poor soul were as- 
soiled ; 60 

Priests didst thou slay and 
churches burn, 

Time it is now to repentance to 
turn ; 

Fiends hast thou worshipped with 
fiendish rite, 

Leave now the darkness and wend 
into light : 

O, while life and space are given, 

Turn thee yet, and think of Hea- 
ven ! ' 

That stern old heathen his head 
he raised, 

And on the good prelate he stead- 
fastly gazed ; 

' Give me broad lands on the Wear 
and the Tyne, 

My faith I will leave and I'll 
cleave unto thine.' 7° 

VI 

Broad lands he gave him on Tyne 
and Wear, 



CANTO FIRST 



509 



To be held of the church by bridle 
and spear, 

Part of Monkwearmouth, of Tyne- 
dale part, 

To better his will and to soften his 
heart : 

Count Witikind was a joyful man, 

Less for the faith than the lands 
that he wan. 

The high church of Durham is 
dressed for the day, 

The clergy are ranked in their sol- 
emn array : 

There came the count, in a bear- 
skin warm, 

Leaning on Hilda his concubine's 
arm. 80 

He kneeled before Saint Cuthbert's 
shrine 

With patience unwonted at rites 
divine ; 

He abjured the gods of heathen 
race 

And he bent his head at the font 
of grace. 

But such was the grisly old prose- 
lyte's look, 

That the priest who baptized him 
grew pale and shook ; 

And the old monks muttered be- 
neath their hood, 

1 Of a stem so stubborn can never 
spring good ! ' 

VII 

Up then arose that grim convert- 

ite, 
Homeward he hied him when 

ended the rite ; 90 

The prelate in honor will with him 

ride 
And feast in his castle on Tyne's 

fair side. 
Banners and banderols danced in 

the wind, 
Monks rode before them and spear- 

meu behind ; 
Onward they passed, till fairly did 

shine 
Pennon and cross on the bosom of 

Tyne ; 



And full in front did that fortress 
lour 

In darksome strength with its but- 
tress and tower : 

At the castle gate was young Har- 
old there, 

Count Witi kind's only offspring 
and heir. 100 

VIII 

Young Harold was feared for his 
hardihood, 

His strength of frame and his fury 
of mood. 

Rude he was and wild to be- 
hold, 

Wore neither collar nor bracelet 
of gold, 

Cap of vair nor rich array, 

Such as should grace that festal 
day: 

His doublet of bull's hide was all 
unbraced, 

Uncovered his head and his sandal 
unlaced : 

His shaggy black locks on his 
brow hung low, 

And his eyes glanced through 
them a swarthy glow ; no 

A Danish club in his hand he 
bore, 

The spikes were clotted with re- 
cent gore ; 

At his back a she-wolf and her 
wolf-cubs twain, 

In the dangerous chase that morn- 
ing slain. 

Eude was the greeting his father 
he made, 

None to the bishop, — while thus 
he said : — 

IX 

'What priest-led hypocrite art 

thou 
With thy humbled look and thy 

monkish brow, 
Like a shaveling who studies to 

cheat his vow ? 
Canst thou be Witikind the Waster 

known, 120 



5io 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



Royal Eric's fearless son, 
Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier 

lord, 
Who won his bride by the axe and 

sword ; 
From the shrine of Saint Peter the 

chalice who tore, 
And melted to bracelets for Freya 

and Thor ; 
With one blow of his gauntlet who 

burst the skull, 
Before Odin's stone, of the Moun- 
tain Bull ? 
Then ye worshipped with rites 

that to war-gods belong, 
With the deed of the brave and 

the blow of the strong ; 
And now, in thine age to dotage 

sunk, 130 

Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a 

shaven monk, 
Lay down thy mail-shirt for cloth- 
ing of hair, — 
Fasting and scourge, like a slave, 

wilt thou bear? 
Or, at best, be admitted in slothful 

bower 
To batten with priest and with 

paramour? 
O, out upon thine endless shame ! 
Each Scald's high harp shall blast 

thy fame, 
And thy son will refuse thee a 

father's name ! ' 



Ireful waxed old Witikind's look, 
His faltering voice with fury 

shook : — 140 

1 Hear me, Harold of hardened 

heart ! 
Stubborn and wilful ever thou 

wert. 
Thine outrage insane I command 

thee to cease, 
Fear my wrath and remain at 

peace : — 
Just is the debt of repentance I 've 

paid, 
Richly the church has a recom- 
pense made, 



And the truth of her doctrines I 
prove with my blade, 

But reckoning to none of my ac- 
tions I owe, 

And least to my son such account- 
ing will show. 

Why speak I to thee of repentance 
or truth, 150 

Who ne'er from thy childhood 
knew reason or ruth? 

Hence ! to the wolf and the bear 
in her den ; 

These are thy mates, and not ra- 
tional men.' 



XI 

Grimly smiled Harold and coldly 

replied, 
'We must honor our sires, if we 

fear when they chide. 
For me, I am yet what thy lessons 

have made, 
I was rocked in a buckler and fed 

from a blade ; 
An infant, was taught to clasp 

hands and to shout 
From the roofs of the tower when 

the flame had broke out ; 
In the blood of slain foemen my 

finger to dip, 160 

And tinge with its purple my 

cheek and my lip. — 
'T is thou know'st not truth, that 

hast bartered in eld 
For a price the brave faith that 

thine ancestors held. 
When this wolf ' — and the carcass 

he flung on the plain •— 
4 Shall awake and give food to her 

nurslings again, 
The face of his father will Harold 

review; 
Till then, aged heathen, young 

Christian, adieu ! » 

XII 

Priest, monk, and prelate stood 

aghast, 
As through the pageant the 

heathen passed. 



CANTO FIRST 



$ii 



A cross-bearer out of his saddle 

he flung, 170 

Laid his hand on the pommel and 

into it sprung. 
Loud was the shriek and deep the 

groan 
When the holy sign on the earth 

was thrown ! 
The fierce old count unsheathed 

his brand, 
But the calmer prelate stayed his 

hand. 
* Let him pass free ! — Heaven 

knows its hour, — 
But he must own repentance's 

power, 
Pray and weep, and penance 

bear, 
Ere he hold land by the Tyne and 

the Wear.' 
Thus in scorn and in wrath from 

his father is gone t8o 

Young Harold the Dauntless, 

Count Witikind's son. 



XIII 

High was the feasting In Witi- 
kind's hall, 

Revelled priests, soldiers, and pa- 
gans, and all ; 

And e'en the good bishop was fain 
to endure 

The scandal which time and in- 
struction might cure : 

It were dangerous, he deemed, at 
the first to restrain 

In his wine and his wassail a half- 
christened Dane. 

The mead flowed around and the 
ale was drained dry, 

Wild was the laughter, the song, 
and the cry ; 

With Kyrie Eleison came clamor- 
ously in igo 

The war-songs of Danesmen, Nor- 
weyan, and Finn, 

Till man after man the contention 
gave o'er, 

Outstretched on the rushes that 
strewed the hall floor ; 



And the tempest within, having 

ceased its wild rout, 
Gave place to the tempest that 

thundered without. 

XIV 

Apart from the wassail in turret 
alone 

Lay flaxen - haired Gunnar, old 
Ermengarde's son ; 

In the train of Lord Harold that 
page was the first, 

For Harold in childhood had Er- 
mengarde nursed ; 

And grieved was young Gunnar 
his master should roam, 200 

Unhoused and unfriended, an exile 
from home. 

He heard the deep thunder, the 
plashing of rain, 

He saw the red lightning through 
shot-hole and pane ; 

' And ! ' said the page, * on the 
shelterless wold 

Lord Harold is wandering in dark- 
ness and cold ! 

What though he was stubborn and 
wayward and wild. 

He endured me because I was 
Ermengarde's child, 

And often from dawn till the set 
of the sun 

In the chase by his stirrup un- 
bidden I run ; 

I would I were older, and knight- 
hood could bear, 210 

I would soon quit the banks of the 
Tyne and the Wear : 

For my mother's command with 
her last parting breath 

Bade me follow her nursling in life 
and to death. 

xv 

' It pours and it thunders, it light- 
ens amain, 

As if Lok the Destroyer had burst 
from his chain ! 

Accursed by the church and ex. 
pelled by his sire, 



512 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



Nor Christian nor Dane give him 
shelter or fire, 

And this tempest what mortal may 
houseless endure ? 

Unaided, unmantled, he dies on 
the moor ! 

Whatever comes of Gunnar, he tar- 
ries not here.' 220 

He leapt from his couch and he 
grasped to his spear, 

Sought the hall of the feast. Un- 
disturbed by his tread, 

The wassailers slept fast as the 
sleep of the dead : 

' Ungrateful and bestial ! ' his an- 
ger broke forth, 

* To forget mid your goblets the 
pride of the North ! 

And you, ye cowled priests who 
have plenty in store, 

Must give Gunnar for ransom a 
palfrey and ore.' 

XVI 

Then, heeding full little of ban or 

of curse, 
He has seized on the Prior of Jor- 

vaux's purse : 
Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morn- 
ing has missed 23b 
His mantle, deep furred from the 

cape to the wrist : 
The seneschal's keys from his belt 

he has ta'en — 
Well drenched on that eve was old 

Hildebrand's brain — 
To the stable-yard he made his way 
And mounted the bishop's palfrey 

gay, 
Castle and hamlet behind him has 

cast 
And right on his way to the moor- 
land has passed. 
Sore snorted the palfrey, unused 

to face 
A weather so wild at so rash a 

pace; 
So long he snorted, so long he 

neighed, 240 

There answered a steed that was 

bound beside, 



And the red flash of lightning 
showed there where lay 

His master, Lord Harold, out- 
stretched on the clay. 

XVII 

Up he started and thundered out, 
1 Stand ! > 

And raised the club in his deadly 
hand. 

The flaxen-haired Gunnar his pur- 
pose told, 

Showed the palfrey and proffered 
the gold. 

' Back, back, and home, thou sim- 
ple boy ! 

Thou canst not share my grief or 
joy: 

Have I not marked thee wail and 
cry 250 

When thou hast seen a sparrow 
die? 

And canst thou, as my follower 
should, 

Wade ankle - deep through foe- 
man's blood, 

Dare mortal and immortal foe, 

The gods above, the fiends below, 

And man on earth, more hateful 
still, 

The very fountain-head of ill? 

Desperate of life and careless of 
death, 

Lover of bloodshed and slaughter 
and scathe, 

Such must thou be with me to 
roam, 260 

And such thou canst not be — 
back, and home ! ' 

XVIII 

Young Gunnar shook like an aspen 
bough, 

As he heard the harsh voice and 
beheld the dark brow, 

And half he repented his purpose 
and vow. 

But now to draw back were boot- 
less shame, 

And he loved his master, so urged 
his claim : 



CANTO FIRST 



5i3 



* Alas ! if my arm and my courage 

be weak, 
Bear with me awhile for old Er- 

mengarde's sake ; 
Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar's 

faith 
As to fear he would break it for 

peril of death. 270 

Have I not risked it to fetch thee 

this gold, 
This surcoat and mantle to fence 

thee from cold ? 
And, did I bear a baser mind, 
What lot remains if I stay be- 
hind? 
The priests' revenge, thy father's 

wrath, 
A dungeon, and a shameful death.' 

XIX 

"With gentler look Lord Harold 

eyed 
The page, then turned his head 

aside ; 
And either a tear did his eyelash 

stain, 
Or it caught a drop of the passing 

rain. 280 

'Art thou an outcast, then?' 

quoth he ; 
4 The meeter page to follow me.' 
'T were bootless to tell what 

climes they sought, 
Ventures achieved, and battles 

fought ; 
How oft with few, how oft alone, 
Fierce Harold's arm the field hath 

won. 
Men swore his eye, that flashed so 

red 
When each other glance was 

quenched with dread, 
Bore oft a light of deadly flame 
That ne'er from mortal courage 

came. 290 

Those limbs so strong, that mood 

so stern, 
That loved the couch of heath and 

fern, 
Afar from hamlet, tower, and town, 
More than to rest on driven down ; 



That stubborn frame, that sullen 

mood, 
Men deemed must come of aught 

but good ; 
And they whispered the great 

Master Fiend was at one 
With Harold the Dauntless, Count 

Witikind's son. 

xx 

Years after years had gone and 

fled, 
The good old prelate lies lapped 

in lead ; 300 

In the chapel still is shown 
His sculptured form on a marble 

stone, 
With staff and ring and scapu- 

laire, 
And folded hands in the act of 

prayer. 
Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting 

now 
On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldin- 

gar's brow ; 
The power of his crosier he loved 

to extend 
O'er whatever would break or 

whatever would bend ; 
And now hath he clothed him in 

cope and in pall, 
And the Chapter of Durham has 

met at his call. 310 

'Aud hear ye not, brethren,' the 

proud bishop said, 
' That our vassal, the Danish Count 

Witikind's dead? 
All his gold and his goods hath he 

given 
To holy Church for the love of 

Heaven, 
And hath founded a chantry with 

stipend and dole 
That priests and that beadsmen 

may pray for his soul : 
Harold his son is wandering 

abroad, 
Dreaded by man and abhorred by 

God; 
Meet it is not that such should 

heir 



SH 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



The lands of the Church on the 


Then rears the ash his airy crest, 


Tyne and the Wear, 320 


Then shines the birch in silver 


And at her pleasure her hallowed 


vest, 


hands 


And the beech in glistening leaves 


May now resume these wealthy 


is drest, 


lands.* 


And dark between shows the oak's 




proud breast 


XXI 


Like a chieftain's frowning 


Answered good Eustace, a canon 


tower; 


old,— 


Though a thousand branches join 


1 Harold is tameless and furious 


their screen, 10 


and bold ; 


Yet the broken sunbeams glance 


Ever Renown blows a note of 


between 


fame 


And tip the leaves with lighter 


And a note of fear when she sounds 


green, 


his name : 


With brighter tints the flower : 


Much of bloodshed and much of 


Dull is the heart that loves not 


scathe 


then 


Have been their lot who have 


The deep recess of the wildwood 


waked his wrath. 


glen, 


Leave him these lands and lord- 


Where roe and red-deer find shel- 


ships still, 


tering den 


Heaven in its hour may change his 


When the sun is in his power. 


will; 330 




But if reft of gold and of living 


11 


bare, 


Less merry perchance is the fading 


An evil counsellor is despair.' 


leaf 


More had he said, but the prelate 


That follows so soon on the gath- 


frowned, 


ered sheaf 


And murmured his brethren who 


When the greenwood loses the 


sate around, 


name ; 20 


And with one consent have they 


Silent is then the forest bound, 


given their doom 


Save the redbreast's note and the 


That the Church should the lands 


rustling sound 


of Saint Cuthbert resume. 


Of frost-nipt leaves that are drop- 


So willed the prelate ; and canon 


ping round, 


and dean 


Or the deep-mouthed cry of the 


Gave to his judgment their loud 


distant hound 


amen. 


That opens on his game : 




Yet then too I love the forest wide, 




Whether the sun in splendor ride 


CANTO SECOND 


And gild its many-colored side, 




Or whether the soft and silvery 


1 


haze 


'Tis merry in greenwood — thus 


In vapory folds o'er the landscape 


runs the old lay — 


strays, 30 


In the gladsome month of lively 


And half involves the woodland 


May, 


maze, 


When the wild birds' song on stem 


Like an early widow's veil, 


and spray 


Where wimpling tissue from the 


Invites to forest bower ; 


gaze 



CANTO SECOND 



515 



The form half hides and half be- 
trays 
Of beauty wan and pale. 

in 

Fair Metelill was a woodland maid, 
Her father a rover of greenwood 

shade, 
By forest statutes undismayed, 

Who lived by bow and quiver ; 
Well known was Wulfstane's 

archery 40 

By merry Tyne both on moor and 

lea, 
Through wooded Weardale's glens 

so free, 
Well beside Stanhope's wildwood 

tree, 
And well on Ganlesse river. 
Yet free though he trespassed on 

woodland game, 
More known and more feared was 

the wizard fame 
Of Jutta of Kookhope, the Outlaw's 

dame; 
Feared when she frowned was her 

eye of flame, 
More feared when in wrath she 

laughed ; 
For then, 'twas said, more fatal 

true 50 

To its dread aim her spell-glance 

flew 
Than when from Wulfstane's 

bended yew 
Sprung forth the gray-goose 

shaft. 

rv 

Yet had this fierce and dreaded 

pair, 
So Heaven decreed, a daughter 

fair; 
None brighter crowned the bed, 
In Britain's bounds, of peer or 

prince, 
Nor hath perchance a lovelier 

since 
In this fair isle been bred. 59 
And naught of fraud or ire or ill 
Was known to gentle Metelill,— 



A simple maiden she ; 
The spells in dimpled smile that 

he, 
And a downcast blush, and the 

darts that fly 
With the sidelong glance of a hazel 
eye, 
Were her arms and witchery. 
So young, so simple was she yet, 
She scarce could childhood's joys 

forget, 
And still she loved, in secret set 

Beneath the greenwood tree, 70 
To plait the rushy coronet 
And braid with flowers her locks 
of jet, 
As when in infancy ; — 
Yet could that heart so simple 

prove 
The early dawn of stealing love : 

Ah ! gentle maid, beware ! 
The power who, now so mild a 

guest, 
Gives dangerous yet delicious zest 
To the calm pleasures of thy 

breast, 
Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest, 80 
Let none his empire share. 



One morn in kirtle green arrayed 
Deep in the wood the maiden 
strayed, 

And where a fountain sprung 
She sate her down unseen to thread 
The scarlet berry's mimic braid, 

And while the beads she strung, 
Like the blithe lark whose carol 

gay 
Gives a good-morrow to the day, 

So lightsomely she sung. 90 

VI 
SONG 

' Lord William was born in gilded 

bower, 
The heir of Wilton's lofty tower; 
Yet better loves Lord William now 
To roam beneath wild Kookhope's 

brow; 



5 i6 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



And William has lived where 

ladies fair 
With gawds and jewels deck their 

hair, 
Yet better loves the dewdrops still 
That pearl the locks of Metelill. 

* The pious palmer loves, I wis, 
Saint Cuthbert's hallowed beads 

to kiss ; ioo 

But I, though simple girl I be, 
Might have such homage paid to 

me; 
For did Lord William see me suit 
This necklace of the bramble's 

fruit, 
He fain — but must not have his 

will — 
Would kiss the beads of Metelill. 

' My nurse has told me many a tale, 
How vows of love are weak and 

frail ; 
My mother says that courtly youth 
By rustic maid means seldom 

sooth. no 

What should they mean ? it cannot 

be 
That such a warning 's meant for 

me, 
For naught— O, naught of fraud 

or ill 
Can William mean to Metelill ! ' 

VII 

Sudden she stops — and starts to 
feel 

A weighty hand, a glove of steel, 

Upon her shrinking shoulders 
laid; 

Fearful she turned, and saw dis- 
mayed 

A knight in plate and mail ar- 
rayed, 

His crest and bearing worn and 
frayed, 120 

His surcoat soiled and riven, 

Formed like that giant race of 
yore 

Whose long-continued crimes out- 
wore 



The sufferance of Heaven. 
Stern accents made his pleasure 

known, 
Though then he used his gentlest 

tone : 
'Maiden,' he said, * sing forth thy 

glee. 
Start not — sing on— it pleases 

me.' 

VIII 

Secured within his powerful hold, 
To bend her knee, her hands to 

fold, 13 o 

Was all the maiden might ; 
And ' O, forgive/ she faintly said, 
' The terrors of a simple maid, 

If thou art mortal wight ! 
But if — of such strange tales are 

told — 
Unearthly warrior of the wold, 
Thou comest to chide mine accents 

bold, 
My mother, Jutta, knows the spell 
At noon and midnight pleasing 

well 
The disembodied ear ; 140 

O, let her powerful charms atone 
For aught my rashness may have 

done, 
And cease thy grasp of fear/ 
Then laughed the knight — his 

laughter's sound 
Half in the hollow helmet drowned ; 
His barred visor then he raised, 
And steady on the maiden gazed. 
He smoothed his brows, as best he 

might, 
To the dread calm of autumn 

night, 149 

When sinks the tempest roar, 
Yet still the cautious fishers eye 
The clouds and fear the gloomy 

sky, 
And haul their barks on shore. 

IX 

4 Damsel/ he said, * be wise, and 
learn 

Matters of weight and deep con- 
cern* 



CANTO SECOND 



517 



From distant realms I come, 
And wanderer long at length have 

planned 
In this my native Northern land 

To seek myself a home. 159 

Nor that alone — a mate I seek ; 
She must be gentle, soft, and 

meek, — 
No lordly dame for me ; 
Myself am something rough of 

mood 
And feel the fire of royal blood, 
And therefore do not hold it good 

To match in my degree. 
Then, since coy maidens say my 

face 
Is harsh, my form devoid of grace, 
For a fair lineage to provide 169 
'T is meet that my selected bride 

In lineaments be fair ; 
I love thine well — till now I ne'er 
Looked patient on a face of fear, 
But now that tremulous sob and 

tear 
Become thy beauty rare. 
One kiss— nay, damsel, coy it 

not! — 
And now go seek thy parents' cot, 
And say a bridegroom soon I 

come 
To woo my love and bear her 

home.' 



Home sprung the maid without a 



pause, 



:8o 



As leveret 'scaped from grey- 
hound's jaws ; 

But still she iocked, howe'er dis- 
tressed, 

The secret in her boding breast ; 

Dreading her sire, who oft for- 
bade 

Her steps should stray to distant 
glade. 

Night came — to her accustomed 
nook 

Her distaff aged Jutta took, 

And by the lamp's imperfect glow 

Rough Wulfstane trimmed his 
shafts and bow. 



Sudden and clamorous from the 

ground 190 

Upstarted slumbering brach and 

hound ; 
Loud knocking next the lodge 

alarms 
And Wulfstane snatches at his 

arms, 
When open flew the yielding door 
And that grim warrior pressed the 

floor. 

XI 

' All peace be here — What ! none 
replies ? 

Dismiss your fears and your sur- 
prise. 

'Tis I — that maid hath told my 
tale, — 

Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ? 

It recks not — it is I demand 200 

Fair Metelill in marriage band ; 

Harold the Dauntless I, whose 
name 

Is brave men's boast and caitiffs' 
shame.' 

The parents sought each other's 
eyes 

With awe, resentment, and sur- 
prise : 

Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, be- 
gan 

The stranger's size and thews to 
scan; 

But as he scanned his courage 
sunk, 

And from unequal strife he shrunk, 

Then forth to blight and blemish 
flies 210 

The harmful curse from Jutta' s 
eyes; 

Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell 

On Harold innocently fell ! 

And disappointment and amaze 

Were in the witch's wildered 
gaze. 

XII 

But soon the wit of woman woke, 
And to the warrior mild she spoke : 
1 Her child was all too young.' — 4 A 
toy, 






S i8 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



The refuge of a maiden coy/ 
Again, * A powerful baron's heir 
Claims in her heart an interest 
fair.* 221 

* A trifle — whisper in his ear 
That Harold is a suitor here ! ' — 
Baffled at length she sought de- 
lay : 

* Would not the knight till morn- 

ing stay ? 
Late was the hour — he there 

might rest 
Till morn, their lodge's honored 

guest.' 
Such were her words— -her craft 

might cast 
Her honored guest should sleep 

his last : 
'No, not to-night — but soon,' he 

swore, 230 

' He would return, nor leave them 

more.' 
The threshold then his huge stride 

crost, 
And soon he was in darkness lost. 

XIII 

Appalled awhile the parents stood, 
Then changed their fear to angry 

mood, 
And foremost fell their words of ill 
On unresisting Metelill: 
Was she not cautioned and forbid, 
Forewarned, implored, accused, 

and chid, 
And must she still to greenwood 

roam 240 

To marshal such misfortune 

home? 
1 Hence, minion — to thy chamber 

hence — 
There prudence learn and peni- 
tence.' 
She went — her lonely couch to 

steep 
In tears which absent lovers 

weep; 
Or if she gained a troubled sleep, 
Fierce Harold's suit was still the 

theme 
And terror of her feverish dream. 



XIV 

Scarce was she gone, her dame 

and sire 
Upon each other bent their ire ; 250 
1 A woodsman thou and hast a 

spear, 
And couldst thou such an insult 

bear ? ' 
Sullen he said, ' A man contends 
With men, a witch with sprites and 

fiends ; 
Not to mere mortal wight belong 
Yon gloomy brow and frame so 

strong. 
But thou — is this thy promise 

fair, 
That your Lord William, wealthy 

heir 
To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le- 

Wear, 
Should Metelill to altar bear? 260 
Do all the spells thou boast'st as 

thine 
Serve but to slay some peasant's 

kine, 
His grain in autumn's storms to 

steep, 
Or thorough fog and fen to sweep 
And hag-ride some poor rustic's 

sleep? 
Is such mean mischief worth the 

fame 
Of sorceress and witch's name ? 
Fame, which with all men's wish 

conspires 
With thy deserts and my desires, 
To damn thy corpse to penal 

fires? 270 

Out on thee, witch ! aroint ! aroint ! 
What now shall put thy schemes 

in joint? 
What save this trusty arrow's 

point, 
From the dark dingle when it flies 
And he who meets it gasps and 

dies?' 

xv 
Stern she replied, 4 1 will not wage 
War with thy folly or thy rage ; 
But ere the morrow's sun be low, 



CANTO SECOND 



519 



Wulf stane of Rookhope, thou shalt 

know 
If I can venge me on a foe. 280 
Believe the while that whatsoe'er 
I spoke in ire of bow and spear, 
It is not Harold's destiny 
The death of pilfered deer to die. 
But he, and thou, and yon pale 

moon — 
That shall be yet more pallid 

soon, 
Before she sink behind the dell — 
Thou, she, and Harold too, shall 

tell 
What Jutta knows of charm or 

spell.' 
Thus muttering, to the door she 

bent 290 

Her wayward steps and forth she 

went, 
And left alone the moody sire 
To cherish or to slake his ire. 

XVI 

Far faster than belonged to age 
Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. 
A priest has met her as she passed, 
And crossed himself and stood 

aghast : 
She traced a hamlet — not a cur 
His throat would ope, his foot 

would stir ; 
By crouch, by trembling, and by 

groan, 300 

They made her hated presence 

known ! 
But when she trode the sable fell, 
Were wilder sounds her way to 

tell, — 
For far was heard the fox's yell, 
The black-cock waked and faintly 

crew, 
Screamed o'er the moss the scared 

curlew ; 
Where o'er the cataract the oak 
Lay slant, was heard the raven's 

croak ; 
The mountain-cat which sought 

his prey 
Glared, screamed, and started from 

her way. 310 



Such music cheered her journey 

lone 
To the deep dell and rocking 

stone : 
There with unhallowed hymn ot 

praise 
She called a god of heathen days. 

XVII 
INVOCATION 

* From thy Pomeranian throne, 
Hewn in rock of living stone, 
Where, to thy godhead faithful 

yet, 

Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett, 
And their swords in vengeance 
whet, 319 

That shall make thine altars wet, 
Wet and red for ages more 
With the Christian's hated gore, — 
Hear me, Sovereign of the Kock ! 
Hear me, mighty Zernebock ! 

* Mightiest of the mighty known, 
Here thy wonders have been 

shown ; 
Hundred tribes in various tongue 
Oft have here thy praises sung ; 
Down that stone with Runic 

seamed 
Hundred victims' blood hath 

streamed! 330 

Now one woman comes alone 
And but wets it with her own, 
The last, the feeblest of thy flock,— 
Hear— and be present, Zernebock ! 

1 Hark ! he comes ! the night-blast 

cold 
Wilder sweeps along the wold ; 
The cloudless moon grows dark 

and dim, 
And bristling hair and quaking 

limb 
Proclaim the Master Demon 

nigh,— 
Those who view his form shall 

.die! 340 

Lo ! I stoop and veil my head ; 
Thou who ridest the tempest dread. 



520 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



Shaking hill and rending oak — 
Spare me ! spare me, Zernebock ! 

'He comes not yet! Shall cold 

delay 
Thy votaress at her need repay? 
Thou— shall I call thee god or 

fiend? — 
Let others on thy mood attend 
With prayer and ritual— Jutta's 

arms 
Are necromantic words and 

charms; 350 

Mine is the spell that uttered once 
Shall wake thy Master from his 

trance, 
Shake his red mansion-house of 

pain 
And burst his seven-times-twisted 

chain ! — 
So! com'st thou ere the spell is 

spoke ? 
I own thy presence, Zernebock.' — 

XVIII 

* Daughter of dust,' the Deep Voice 

said — 
Shook while it spoke the vale for 

dread, 
Rocked on the base that massive 

stone, 
The evil Deity to own,— 360 

* Daughter of dust ! not mine the 

power 
Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal 

hour. 
'Twixt heaven and hell there is a 

strife 
Waged for his soul and for his life, 
And fain would we the combat 

win 
And snatch him in his hour of sin. 
There is a star now rising red 
That threats him with an influence 

dread : 
Woman, thine arts of malice whet, 
To use the space before it set. 370 
Involve him with the church in 

strife, 
Push on adventurous chance his 

life; 



Ourself will in the hour of need, 
As best we may, thy counsels 

speed.' 
So ceased the Voice ; for seven 

leagues round 
Each hamlet started at the sound, 
But slept again as slowly died 
Its thunders on the hill's brown 

side. 

XIX 

1 And is this all,' said Jutta stern, 
1 That thou canst teach and I can 

learn ? 380 

Hence! to the land of fog and 

waste, 
There fittest is thine influence 

placed, 
Thou powerless, sluggish Deity ! 
But ne'er shall Briton bend the 

knee 
Again before so poor a god.' 
She struck the altar with her rod ; 
Slight was the touch as when at 

need 
A damsel stirs her tardy steed; 
But to the blow the stone gave 

place, 
And, starting from its balanced 

base, 390 

Rolled thundering down the moon- 
light dell,— 
Reechoed moorland, rock, and fell; 
Into the moonlight tarn it dashed, 
Their shores the sounding surges 

lashed, 
And there was ripple, rage, and 

foam; 
But on that lake, so dark and lone, 
Placid and pale the moonbeam 

shone 
As Jutta hied her home. 



CANTO THIRD 



Gray towers of Durham ! there 

was once a time 
I viewed your battlements with 

such vague hope 



CANTO THIRD 



521 



As brightens life in its first 


11 


dawning prime ; 


Fair on the half-seen streams 


Not that e'en then came within 


the sunbeams danced, 


fancy's scope 


Betraying it beneath the wood- 


A vision vain of mitre, throne, or 


land bank, 


cope; 


And fair between the Gothic 


Yet, gazing on the venerable hall, 


turrets glanced 30 


Her flattering dreams would in 


Broad lights, and shadows fell 


perspective ope 


on front and flank, 


Some reverend room, some pre- 


Where tower and buttress rose 


bendary's stall, — 


in martial rank, 


And thus Hope me deceived as she 


And girdled in the massive don- 


deceiveth all. 


jon keep, 




And from their circuit pealed 


Well yet I love thy mixed and 


o'er bush and bank 


massive piles, 10 


The matin bell with summons 


Half church of God, half castle 


long and deep, 


'gainst the Scot, 


And echo answered still with long- 


And long to roam these vener- 


resounding sweep. 


able aisles, 




With records stored of deeds 


in 


long since forgot ; 


The morning mists rose from the 


There might I share my Surtees' 


ground, 


happier lot, 


Each merry bird awakened round 


Who leaves at will his patrimo- 


As if in revelry ; 


nial field 


Afar the bugle's clanging sound 40 


To ransack every crypt and hal- 


Called to the chase the lagging 


lowed spot, 


hound ; 


And from oblivion rend the 


The gale breathed soft and free, 


spoils they yield, 


And seemed to linger on its way 


Restoring priestly chant and clang 


To catch fresh odors from the 


of knightly shield. 


spray, 




And waved it in its wanton play 


Vain is the wish — since other 


So light and gamesomely. 


cares demand 


The scenes which morning beams 


Each vacant hour, and in another 


reveal, 


clime; 20 


Its sounds to hear, its gales to 


But still that northern harp in- 


feel 


vites my hand 


In all their fragrance round him 


Which tells the wonder of thine 


steal, 49 


earlier time ; 


It melted Harold's heart of steel, 


And fain its numbers would I 


And, hardly wotting why, 


now command 


He doffed his helmet's gloomy 


To paint the beauties of that 


pride 


dawning fair 


And hung it on a tree beside, 


When Harold, gazing from its 


Laid mace and falchion by, 


lofty stand 


And on the greensward sate him 


Upon the western heights of 


down 


Beaurepaire, 


And from his dark habitual frown 


Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt 


Relaxed his rugged brow — 


by winding Wear, 


Whoever hath the doubtful task 



522 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



From that stern Dane a boon to 
ask 
Were wise to ask it now. 60 

rv 
His place beside young Gunnar 

took 
And marked his master's softening 

look, 
And in his eye's dark mirror spied 
The gloom of stormy thoughts sub- 
side, 
And cautious watched the fittest 

tide 
To speak a warning word. 
So when the torrent's billows 

shrink, 
The timid pilgrim on the brink 
Waits long to see them wave and 

sink 
Ere he dare brave the ford, 70 
And often after doubtful pause 
His step advances or withdraws ; 
Fearful to move the slumbering ire 
Of his stern lord, thus stood the 

squire 
Till Harold raised his eye, 
That glanced as when athwart the 

shroud 
Of the dispersing tempest-cloud 
The bursting sunbeams fly. 



1 Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, 
Offspring of prophetess and bard ! 
Take harp and greet this lovely 

prime 81 

With some high strain of Runic 

rhyme, 
Strong, deep, and powerful ! Peal 

it round 
Like that loud bell's sonorous 

sound, 
Yet wild by fits, as when the lay 
Of bird and bugle hail the day. 
Such was my grandsire Eric's 

sport 
When dawn gleamed on his martial 

court. 
Heymar the Scald with harp's 

high sound 



Summoned the chiefs who slept 
around ; 9 o 

Couched on the spoils of wolf and 
bear, 

They roused like lions from their 
lair, 

Then rushed in emulation forth 

To enhance the glories of the 
north. — 

Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race, 

Where is thy shadowy resting- 
place ? 

In wild Valhalla hast thou quaffed 

From foeman's skull metheglin 
draught, 

Or wanderest where thy cairn was 
piled 

To frown o'er oceans wide and 
wild? 100 

Or have the milder Christians 
given 

Thy refuge in their peaceful hea- 
ven? 

Where'er thou art, to thee are 
known 

Our toils endured, our trophies 
won, 

Our wars, our wanderings, and 
our woes.' 

He ceased, and Gunnar's song 
arose. 

VI 

SONG 

1 Hawk and osprey screamed for joy 
O'er the beetling cliffs of Hoy, 
Crimson foam the beach o'er- 

spread, 
The heath was dyed with darker 

red, no 

When o'er Eric, Inguar's son, 
Dane and Northman piled the 

stone, 
Singing wild the war-song stern, 
" Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn ! " 

'Where eddying currents foam 

and boil 
By Bersa's burgh and Graemsay's 

isle, 



CANTO THIRD 



523 



The seaman sees a martial form 
Half-mingled with the mist and 

storm. 
In anxious awe he bears away 
To moor his bark in Stromna's 

bay, 120 

And murmurs from the bounding 

stern, 
" Kest thee, Dweller of the Cairn ! " 

'What cares disturb the mighty 

dead? 
Each honored rite was duly paid ; 
No daring hand thy helm unlaced, 
Thy sword, thy shield, were near 

thee placed ; 
Thy flinty couch no tear profaned : 
Without, with hostile blood 't was 

stained ; 
Within, 't was lined with moss and 

fern, — 
Then rest thee, Dweller of the 

Cairn ! 130 

'He may not rest: from realms 

afar 
Comes voice of battle and of war, 
Of conquest wrought with bloody 

hand 
On Carmel's cliffs and Jordan's 

strand, 
When Odin's warlike son could 

daunt 
The turbaned race of Terma- 

gaunt.' 

VII 

'Peace,' said the knight, 'the 
noble Scald 

Our warlike fathers' deeds re- 
called, 

But never strove to soothe the 
son 

With tales of what himself had 
done. 140 

At Odin's board the bard sits high 

Whose harp ne'er stooped to flat- 
tery, 

But highest he whose daring lay 

Hath dared unwelcome truths to 
say.' 



With doubtful smile young Gun- 

nar eyed 
His master's looks and naught re- 
plied — 
But well that smile his master led 
To construe what he left unsaid. 
1 Is it to me, thou timid youth, 
Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome 

truth ! 150 

My soul no more thy censure 

grieves 
Than frosts rob laurels of their 

leaves. 
Say on — and yet — - beware the 

rude 
And wild distemper of my blood ; 
Loath were I that mine ire should 

wrong 
The youth that bore my shield so 

long, 
And who, in service constant still, 
Though weak in frame, art strong 

in will.' — 
' ! ' quoth the page, ■ even there 

depends 
My counsel — there my warning 

tends — 160 

Oft seems as of my master's 

breast 
Some demon were the sudden 

guest ; 
Then at-the first misconstrued word 
His hand is on the mace and 

sword, 
From her firm seat his wisdom 

driven, 
His life to countless dangers given. 
O, would that Gunnar could suffice 
To be the fiend's last sacrifice, 
So that, when glutted with my 

gore, 
He fled and tempted thee no 

more ! ' 170 

VIII 

Then waved his hand and shook 

his head 
The impatient Dane while thus he 

said: 
1 Profane not, youth — it is not 

thine 



5 2 4 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



To judge the spirit of our line — 
The bold Berserkar's rage divine, 
Through whose inspiring deeds 

are wrought 
Past human strength and human 

thought. 
When full upon his gloomy soul 
The champion feels the influence 

roll, 
He swims the lake, he leaps the 

wall — 1 80 

Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs 

the fall — 
Unshielded, mailless, on he goes 
Singly against a host of foes ; 
Their spears he holds like with- 
ered reeds, 
Their mail like maiden's silken 

weeds; 
One 'gainst a hundred will he 

strive, 
Take countless wounds and yet 

survive. 
Then rush the eagles to his cry 
Of slaughter and of victory, — 
And blood he quaffs like Odin's 

bowl, 190 

Deep drinks his sword, — deep 

drinks his soul ; 
And all that meet him in his ire 
He gives to ruin, rout, and fire ; 
Then, like gorged lion, seeks some 

den 
And couches till he 's man agen. — 
Thou know'st the signs of look 

and limb 
When 'gins that rage to over- 
brim— 
Thou know'st when I am moved 

and why ; 
And when thou see'st me roll mine 

eye, 
Set my teeth thus, and stamp my 

fOOt, 200 

Eegard thy safety and be mute ; 
But else speak boldly out what- 

e'er 
Is fitting that a knight should 

hear. 
I love thee, youth. The lay has 

power 



Upon my dark and sullen hour ; — 
So Christian monks are wont to 

say 
Demons of old were charmed 

away; 
Then fear not I will rashly deem 
111 of thy speech, whate'er the 

theme.' 

IX 

As down some strait in doubt and 

dread 210 

The watchful pilot drops the lead, 

And, cautious in the midst to 

steer, 
The shoaling channel sounds with 

fear; 
So, lest on dangerous ground he 

swerved, 
The page his master's brow ob- 
served, 
Pausing at intervals to fling 
His hand on the melodious string, 
And to his moody breast apply 
The soothing charm of harmony, 
While hinted half, and half ex- 
prest, 220 

This warning song conveyed the 
rest. — 



SONG 

1 111 fares the bark with tackle 
riven, 

And ill when on the breakers 
driven, — 

111 when the storm-sprite shrieks 
in air, 

And the scared mermaid tears her 
hair; 

But worse when on her helm the 
hand 

Of some false traitor holds com- 
mand. 

' 111 fares the fainting palmer, 

placed 
Mid Hedron's rocks or Kana's 

waste, — 
111 when the scorching sun is 

high, 230 



CANTO THIRD 



525 



And the expected font is dry,— 
Worse when his guide o'er sand 

and heath, 
The barbarous Copt, has planned 

his death. 

* 111 fares the knight with buckler 

cleft, 
And ill when of his helm bereft, — 
111 when his steed to earth is flung, 
Or from his grasp the falchion 

wrung ; 
But worse, of instant ruin token, 
When he lists rede by woman 

spoken.' — 

x 

4 How now, fond boy?— Canst 
thou think 111,' 240 

Said Harold, ' of fair Metelill?' 

* She may be fair,' the page replied 

As through the strings he 
ranged, — 
1 She may be fair ; but yet,' he cried, 
And then the strain he 
changed, — 

SONG 

* She may be fair,' he sang, ' but 

yet 
Far fairer have I seen 
Than she, for all her locks of jet 

And eyes so dark and sheen. 
Were I a Danish knight in arms, 
As one day I may be, 251 

My heart should own no foreign 
charms — 
A Danish maid for me ! 

' I love my father's northern land, 

Where the dark pine-trees grow, 
And the bold Baltic's echoing 
strand 

Looks o'er each grassy oe. 
I love to mark the lingering sun, 

From Denmark loath to go, 
And leaving on the billows bright, 
To cheer the short-lived summer 
night, 261 

A path of ruddy glow. 



'But most the northern maid I 
love, 
With breast like Denmark's 
snow 
And form as fair as Denmark's 

pine, 
Who loves with purple heath to 
twine 
Her locks of sunny glow ; 
And sweetly blend that shade of 
gold 
With the cheek's rosy hue, 
And Faith might for her mirror 
hold 270 

That eye of matchless blue. 

1 'T is hers the manly sports to love 

That southern maidens fear, 
To bend the bow by stream and 
grove, 
And lift the hunter's spear. 
She can her chosen champion's 
flight 
With eye undazzled see, 
Clasp him victorious from the 

strife, 
Or on his corpse yield up her life, — 
A Danish maid for me ! ' 280 

XI 

Then smiled the Dane — * Thou 

canst so well 
The virtues of our maidens tell, 
Half could I wish my choice had 

been 
Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen, 
And lofty soul ; — yet what of ill 
Hast thou to charge on Metelill? ' 
4 Nothing on her,' young Gunnar 

said, 
* But her base sire's ignoble trade. 
Her mother too — the general 

fame 
Hath given to Jutta evil name, 290 
And in her gray eye is a flame 
Art cannot hide nor fear can 

tame. — 
That sordid woodman's peasant 

cot 
Twice have thine honored foot- 
steps sought, 



526 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



And twice returned with such ill 

rede 
As sent thee on some desperate 

deed.' 

XII 

* Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said, 
He that comes suitor to a maid, 
Ere linked in marriage, should 

provide 
Lands and a dwelling for his 

bride — 300 

My father's by the Tyne and Wear 
I have reclaimed.' — 4 0, all too 

dear 
And all too dangerous the prize, 
E'en were it won,' young Gunnar 

cries ; — 
*And then this Jutta's fresh de- 
vice, 
That thou shouldst seek, a heathen 

Dane, 
From Durham's priests a boon to 

gain 
When thou hast left their vassals 

slain 
In their own halls ! » — Flashed 

Harold's eye, 
Thundered his voice — * False 

page, you lie! 310 

The castle, hall and tower, is mine, 
Built by old Witikind on Tyne. 
The wild-cat will defend his den, 
Fights for her nest the timid wren ; 
And think' st thou I '11 forego my 

right 
For dread of monk or monkish 

knight?— 
Up and away, that deepening 

bell 
Doth of the bishop's conclave 

tell. 
Thither will I in manner due, 
As Jutta bade, my claim to sue ; 320 
And if to right me they are loath, 
Then woe to church and chapter 

both ! • 
Now shift the scene and let the 

curtain fall, 
And our next entry be Saint Cuth- 

bert's hall. 



CANTO FOURTH 



Full many a bard hath sung 
the solemn gloom 

Of the long Gothic aisle and 
stone-ribbed roof, 

O'er-canopying shrine and gor- 
geous tomb, 

Carved screen, and altar glim- 
mering far aloof 

And blending with the shade — 
a matchless proof 

Of high devotion, which hath 
now waxed cold ; 

Yet legends say that Luxury's 
brute hoof 

Intruded oft within such sacred 
fold, 
Like step of Bel's false priest 
tracked in his fane of old. 

Well pleased am I, howe'er, that 

when the route 10 

Of our rude neighbors whilome 

deigned to come, 
Uncalled and eke unwelcome, to 

sweep out 
And cleanse our chancel from 

the rags of Borne, 
They spoke not on our ancient 

fane the doom 
To which their bigot zeal gave 

o'er their own, 
But spared the martyred saint 

and storied tomb, 
Though papal miracles had 

graced the stone, 
And though the aisles still loved 

the organ's swelling tone. 

And deem not, though 't is now 

my part to paint 
A prelate swayed by love of 

power and gold, 20 

That all who wore the mitre of 

our Saint 
Like to ambitious Aldingar I 

hold; 
Since both in modern times and 
• days of old 



CANTO FOURTH 



527 



It sate on those whose virtues 


in 


might atone 


The prelate was to speech ad- 


Their predecessors' frailties 


dressed, 


trebly told : 


Each head sunk reverent on 


Matthew and Morton we as 


each breast ; 


such may own — 


But ere his voice was heard — 


And such — if fame speak truth — 


without 


the honored Barrington. 


Arose a wild tumultuous shout, 


11 


Offspring of wonder mixed with 

fear, 
Such as in crowded streets we 


But now to earlier and to ruder 


times, 


hear 


As subject meet, I tune my rugged 


Hailing the flames that, bursting 


rhymes, 


out, 


Telling how fairly the chapter 


Attract yet scare the rabble rout. 


was met, 30 


Ere it had ceased a giant hand 60 


And rood and books in seemly 


Shook oaken door and iron band 


order set ; 


Till oak and iron both gave 


Huge brass-clasped volumes which 


way, 


the hand 


Clashed the long bolts, the 


Of studious priest but rarely 


hinges bray, 


scanned, 


And, ere upon angel or saint they 


Now on fair carved desk dis- 


can call, 


played, 


Stands Harold the Dauntless in 


'T was theirs the solemn scene to 

aid. 
O'erhead with many a scutcheon 


midst of the hall. 


IV 


graced 


'Now save ye, my masters, both 


And quaint devices interlaced, 


rocket and rood, 


A labyrinth of crossing rows, 


From Bishop with mitre to deacon 


The roof in lessening arches 


with hood ! 


shows ; 


For here stands Count Harold, old 


Beneath its shade placed proud 


Witikind's son, 


and high 40 


Come to sue for the lands which 


With footstool and with canopy, 


his ancestors won.' 


Sate Aldingar — and prelate ne'er 


The prelate looked round him with 


More haughty graced Saint Cuth- 


sore troubled eye, 70 


bert's chair ; 


Unwilling to grant yet afraid to 


Canons and deacons were placed 


deny; 


below, 


While each canon and deacon who 


In due degree and lengthened row. 


heard the Dane speak, 


Unmoved and silent each sat 


To be safely at home would have 


there, 


fasted a week : — 


Like image in his oaken chair ; 


Then Aldingar roused him and 


Nor head nor hand nor foot they 


answered again, 


stirred, 


' Thou suest for a boon which thou 


Nor lock of hair nor tress of 


canst not obtain ; 


beard ; 


The Church hath no fiefs for an 


And of their eyes severe alone 50 


unchristened Dane. 


The twinkle showed they were 


Thy father was wise, and his trea- 


not stone. 


sure hath given 



528 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



That the priests of a chantry might 

hymn him to heaven ; 
And the fiefs which whilome he 

possessed as his due 
Have lapsed to the Church, and 

been granted anew 80 

To Anthony Conyers and Alberic 

Vere, 
For the service Saint Cuthbert's 

blest banner to bear 
When the bands of the North come 

to foray the Wear ; 
Then disturb not our conclave with 

wrangling or blame, 
But in peace and in patience pass 

hence as ye came.' 



Loud laughed the stern Pagan, 
* They 're free from the care 

Of fief and of service, both Con- 
yers and Vere,— 

Six feet of your chancel is all they 
will need, 

A buckler of stone and a corselet 
of lead. — 

Ho, Gunnar ! — the tokens ! ' — and, 
severed anew, 90 

A head and a hand on the altar he 
threw. 

Then shuddered with terror both 
canon and monk, 

They knew the glazed eye and the 
countenance shrunk, 

And of Anthony Conyers the half- 
grizzled hair, 

And the scar on the hand of Sir 
Alberic Vere. 

There was not a churchman or 
priest that was there 

But grew pale at the sight and be- 
took him to prayer. 

VI 

Count Harold laughed at their 

looks of fear : 
'Was this the hand should your 

banner bear ? 
Was that the head should wear 

the casque 100 

In battle at the Church's task? 



Was it to such you gave the place 
Of Harold with the heavy mace ? 
Find me between the Wear and 

Tyne 
A knight will wield this club of 

mine, — 
Give him my fiefs, and I will say 
There 's wit beneath the cowl of 

gray.' 
He raised it, rough with many a 

stain 
Caught from crushed skull and 

spouting brain ; 109 

He wheeled it that it shrilly sung 
And the aisles echoed as it swung, 
Then dashed it down with sheer 

descent 
And split King k Osric's monu- 
ment. — 
'How like ye this music? How 

trow ye the hand 
That can wield such a mace may 

be reft of its land? 
No answer?— I spare ye a space 

to agree, 
And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a 

saint if he be. 
Ten strides through your chancel, 

ten strokes on your bell, 
And again I am with you — grave 

fathers, farewell.' 

VII 

He turned from their presence, he 

clashed the oak door, 120 
And the clang of his stride died 

away on the floor ; 
And his head from his bosom the 

prelate uprears 
With a ghost-seer's look when the 

ghost disappears : 
1 Ye Priests of Saint Cuthbert, now 

give me your rede, 
For never of counsel had bishop 

more need ! 
Were the arch-fiend incarnate in 

flesh and in bone, 
The language, the look, and the 

laugh were his own. 
In the bounds of Saint Cuthbert 

there is not a knight 



CANTO FOURTH 



529 



Dare confront in our quarrel yon 

goblin in fight ; 
Then rede me aright to his claim 

to reply, 130 

»T is unlawful to grant and 'tis 

death to deny.' 

VIII 

On venison and malmsie that morn- 
ing had fed 
The Cellarer Vinsauf— 'twas thus 

that he said : 
' Delay till to-morrow the Chapter's 

reply ; 
Let the feast be spread fair and 

the wine be poured high : 
If he 's mortal he drinks, — if he 

drinks, he is ours — 
His bracelets of iron, — his bed 

in our towers.' 
This man had a laughing eye, 
Trust not, friends, when such you 

spy; 
A beaker's depth he well could 

drain, 140 

Revel, sport, and jest amain — 
The haunch of the deer and the 

grape's bright dye 
Never bard loved them better 

than I ; 
But sooner than Vinsauf filled me 

my wine, 
Passed me his jest, and laughed at 

mine, 
Though the buck were of Bear- 
park, of Bourdeaux the vine, 
With the dullest hermit I'd rather 

dine 
On an oaken cake and a draught 

of the Tyne. 

IX 

Walwayn the leech spoke next — 

he knew 
Each plant that loves the sun and 

dew, 150 

But special those whose juice can 

gain 
Dominion o'er the blood and brain ; 
The peasant who saw him by pale 

moonbeam 



Gathering such herbs by bank and 
stream 

Deemed his thin form and sound- 
less tread 

Were those of wanderer from the 
dead. — 

' Vinsauf, thy wine,' he said, * hath 
power, 

Our gyves are heavy, strong our 
tower ; 

Yet three drops from this flask of 
mine, 

More strong than dungeons, gyves, 
or wine, 160 

Shall give him prison under ground 

More dark, more narrow, more pro- 
found. 

Short rede, good rede, let Harold 
have — 

A dog's death and a heathen's 
grave. 1 

I have lain on a sick man's bed, 

Watching for hours for the leech's 
tread, 

As if I deemed that his presence 
alone 

Were of power to bid my pain be- 
gone; 

I have listed his words of comfort 
given, 

As if to oracles from heaven ; 170 

I have counted his steps from my 
chamber door, 

And blessed them when they were 
heard no more ; — 

But sooner than Walwayn my sick 
couch should nigh, 

My choice were by leech-craft un- 
aided to die. 



1 Such service done in fervent zeal 
The Church may pardon and con- 
ceal,' 
The doubtful prelate said, 'but 

ne'er 
The counsel ere the act should 

hear. — 
Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now, 
The stamp of wisdom is on thy 
brow ; 180 



530 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



Thy days, thy nights, in cloister 

pent, 
Are still to mystic learning lent ; — 
Anselm of Jarrow, in thee is my 

hope, 
Thou well mayst give counsel to 

prelate or pope.' 

XI 

Answered the prior — "T is wis- 
dom's use 
Still to delay what we dare not re- 
fuse; 
Ere granting the boon he comes 

hither to ask, 
Shape for the giant gigantic task ; 
Let us see how a step so sounding 

can tread 
In paths of darkness, danger, and 

dread ; 190 

He may not, he will not, impugn 

our decree 
That calls but for proof of his 

chivalry ; 
And were Guy to return or Sir 

Bevis the Strong, 
Our wilds have adventure might 

cumber them long — 
The Castle of Seven Shields' — 

' Kind Anselm, no more ! 
The step of the Pagan approaches 

the door.' 
The churchmen were hushed. — In 

his mantle of skin 
With his mace on his shoulder 

Count Harold strode in, 
There was foam on his lips, there 

was fire in his eye, 
For, chafed by attendance, his fury 

was nigh. 200 

* Ho ! Bishop,' he said, ' dost thou 

grant me my claim ? 
Or must I assert it by falchion and 
flame?' 

XII 

* On thy suit, gallant Harold,' the 

bishop replied, 
In accents which trembled, 'we 
may not decide 



Until proof of your strength and 

your valor we saw — 
'T is not that we doubt them, but 

such is the law.' — 
1 And would you, Sir Prelate, have 

Harold make sport 
For the cowls and the shavelings 

that herd in thy court? 
Say what shall he do ? — From the 

shrine shall he tear 
The lead bier of thy patron and 

heave it in air. 210 

And through the long chancel 

make Cuthbert take wing 
With the speed of a bullet dis- 
missed from the sling? ' — 
' Nay, spare such probation,' the 

cellarer said, 
' From the mouth of our minstrels 

thy task shall be read. 
While the wine sparkles high in 

the goblet of gold 
And the revel is loudest, thy task 

shall be told ; 
And thyself, gallant Harold, shall, 

hearing it, tell 
That the bishop, his cowls, and his 

shavelings, meant well.' 

XIII 

Loud revelled the guests and the 

goblets loud rang, 
But louder the minstrel, Hugh 

Meneville, sang ; 220 

And Harold, the hurry and pride 

of whose soul, 
E'en when verging to fury, owned 

music's control, 
Still bent on the harper his broad 

sable eye, 
And often untasted the goblet 

passed by ; 
Than wine or than wassail to him 

was more dear 
The minstrel's high tale of en- 
chantment to hear ; 
And the bishop that day might of 

Vinsauf complain 
That his art had but wasted his 

wine-casks in vain. 



CANTO FOURTH 



53i 



XIV 

THE CASTLE OF THE SEVEN 
SHIELDS 

A BALLAD 

The Druid Urien had daughters 

seven, 
Their skill could call the moon 

from heaven ; 230 

So fair their forms and so high 

their fame 
That seven proud kings for their 

suitors came. 

King Mador and Rhys came from 

Powis and Wales, 
Unshorn was their hair and un- 

pruned were their nails ; 
From Strath-Clyde was Ewain, 

and Ewain was lame, 
And the red-bearded Donald from 

Galloway came. 

Lot, King of Lodon, was hunch- 
hacked from youth ; 

Dunmail of Cumbria had never a 
tooth ; 

But Adolf of Bambrough, North- 
umberland's heir, 

Was gay and was gallant, was 
young and was fair. 240 

There was strife 'mongst the sis- 
ters, for each one would have 

For husband King Adolf, the gal- 
lant and brave ; 

And envy bred hate, and hate 
urged them to blows, 

When the firm earth was cleft and 
the Arch-fiend arose ! 

He swore to the maidens their 

wish to fulfil — 
They swore to the foe they would 

work by his will. 
A spindle and distaff to each hath 

he given, 
* Now hearken my spell,' said the 

Outcast of heaven. 



'Ye shall ply these spindles at 

midnight hour, 
And for every spindle shall rise a 

tower, 250 

Where the right shall be feeble, 

the wrong shall have power, 
And there shall ye dwell with your 

paramour.' 

Beneath the pale moonlight they 
sate on the wold, 

And the rhymes which they chant- 
ed must never be told ; 

And as the black wool from the 
distaff they sped, 

With blood from their bosom they 
moistened the thread. 

As light danced the spindles be- 
neath the cold gleam, 

The castle arose like the birth of 
a dream — 

The seven towers ascended like 
mist from the ground, 

Seven portals defend them, seven 
ditches surround. 260 

Within that dread castle seven 
monarchs were wed, 

But six of the seven ere the morn- 
ing lay dead ; 

With their eyes all on fire and their 
daggers all red, 

Seven damsels surround the 
Northumbrian's bed. 

1 Six kingly bridegrooms to death 

we have done, 
Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf 

hath won, 
Six lovely brides all his pleasure 

to do, 
Or the bed of the seventh shall be 

husbandless too.' 



Well 



the 



chanced it that Adolf 
night when he wed 
Had confessed and had sained him 
ere boune to his bed ; 270 



532 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



He sprung from the couch and his 
broadsword he drew, 

And there the seven daughters of 
Urien he slew. 

The gate of the castle he bolted 
and sealed, 

And hung o'er each arch-stone a 
crown and a shield ; 

To the cells of Saint Dunstan then 
wended his way, 

And died in his cloister an ancho- 
rite gray. 

Seven monarchs' wealth in that 
castle lies stowed, 

The foul fiends brood o'er them 
like raven and toad. 

Whoever shall guesten these 
chambers within, 

From curfew till matins, that trea- 
sure shall win. 280 

But manhood grows faint as the 
world waxes old ! 

There lives not in Britain a cham- 
pion so bold, 

So dauntless of heart, and so pru- 
dent of brain, 

As to dare the adventure that trea- 
sure to gain. 

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall 
wave with the rye, 

Before the rude Scots shall North- 
umberland fly, 

And the flint cliffs of Bambro' 
shall melt in the sun, 

Before that adventure be perilled 
and won. 

xv 

4 And is this my probation ? ' wild 
Harold he said, 

4 Within a lone castle to press a 
lone bed ? — 290 

Good even, my lord bishop,— 
Saint Cuthbert to borrow, 

The Castle of Seven Shields re- 
ceives me to-morrow*' 



CANTO FIFTH 

I 

Denmark's sage courtier to her 
princely youth, 

Granting his cloud an ousel or a 
whale, 

Spoke, though unwittingly, a par- 
tial truth ; 

For Fantasy embroiders Na- 
ture's veil. 

The tints of ruddy eve or dawn- 
ing pale, 

Of the swart thunder-cloud or 
silver haze, 

Are but the ground- work of the 
rich detail 

Which Fantasy with pencil wild 
portrays, 
Blending what seems and is in the 
rapt muser's gaze. 

Nor are the stubborn forms of 

earth and stone 10 

Less to the Sorceress's empire 

given; 
For not with unsubstantial hues 

alone, 
Caught from the varying surge 

of vacant heaven, 
From bursting sunbeam or from 

flashing levin, 
She limns her pictures: on the 

earth, as air, 
Arise her castles and her car is 

driven ; 
And never gazed the eye on 

scene so fair, 
But of its boasted charms gave 

Fancy half the share. 

11 

Up a wild pass went Harold, 

bent to prove, 
Hugh Meneville, the adventure 

of thy lay ; 20 

Gunnar pursued his steps in 

faith and love, 
Ever companion of his master's 

way. 
Midward their path, a rock of 

granite gray 



CANTO FIFTH 



533 



From the adjoining cliff had 

made descent,— 
A barren mass — yet with her 

drooping spray 
Had a young birch-tree crowned 

its battlement, 
Twisting her fibrous roots through 

cranny, flaw, and rent. 

This rock and tree could Gun- 

nar's thought engage 
Till Fancy brought the tear-drop 

to his eye, 
And at his master asked the 

timid page, 30 

1 What is the emblem that a bard 

should spy 
In that rude rock and its green 

canopy ? ' 
And Harold said, 'Like to the 

helmet brave 
Of warrior slain in fight it seems 

to lie, 
And these same drooping boughs 

do o'er it wave 
Not all unlike the plume his lady's 

favor gave.' 

1 Ah, no ! ' replied the page ; * the 
ill-starred love 

Of some poor maid is in the em- 
blem shown, 

Whose fates are with some hero's 
interwove 

And rooted on a heart to love 
unknown : 40 

And as the gentle dews of hea- 
ven alone 

Nourish those drooping boughs, 
and as the scathe 

Of the red lightning rends both 
tree and stone, 

So fares it with her unrequited 
faith, — 
Her sole relief is tears — her only 
refuge death.' 

in 

* Thou art a fond fantastic boy,' 
Harold replied, ' to females coy, 
Yet prating still of love ; 48 
Even so amid the clash of war 



I know thou lov'st to keep afar, 
Though destined by thy evil star 

With one like me to rove, 
Whose business and whose joys 

are found 
Upon the bloody battle-ground. 
Yet, foolish trembler as thou art. 
Thou hast a nook of my rude 

heart, 
And thou and I will never part ; 
Harold would wrap the world in 

flame 
Ere injury on Gunnar came.' 59 

IV 

The grateful page made no reply, 
But turned to heaven his gentle 

eye, 
And clasped his hands, as one 

who said, 
1 My toils — my wanderings are 

o'erpaid ! ' 
Then in a gayer, lighter strain, 
Compelled himself to speech 

again ; 
And, as they flowed along, 
His words took cadence soft and 

slow, 
And liquid, like dissolving snow, 
They melted into song. 



* What though through fields of 
carnage wide 70 

I may not follow Harold's stride, 

Yet who with faithful Gunnar's 
pride 
Lord Harold's feats can see ? 

And dearer than the couch of 
pride 

He loves the bed of gray wolf's 
hide, 

When slumbering by Lord Har- 
old's side 
In forest, field, or lea.' 

VI 

'Break off!' said Harold, in a 

tone 
Where hurry and surprise were 

shown, 79 



534 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



With some slight touch of 

fear, 
* Break off, we are not here 

alone ; 
A palmer form comes slowly 

on! 
By cowl and staff and mantle 

known, 
My monitor is near. 
Now mark him, Gunnar, heed- 
fully; 
He pauses by the blighted tree — 
Dost see him, youth?— Thou 

couldst not see 
When in the vale of Galilee 

I first beheld his form, 
Nor when we met that other 

while 90 

In Cephalonia's rocky isle 

Before the fearful storm,— 
Dost see him now ? ' — The page, 

distraught 
With terror, answered, 4 I see 

naught, 
And there is naught to see, 
Save that the oak's scathed 

boughs fling down 
Upon the path a shadow brown 
That, like a pilgrim's dusky 

gown, 
Waves with the waving tree.' 



VII 

Count Harold gazed upon the 
oak 100 

As if his eyestrings would have 
broke, 
And then resolvedly said, 

'Be what it will yon phantom 
gray — 

Nor heaven nor hell shall ever 
say 

That for their shadows from his 
way 
Count Harold turned dis- 
mayed : 

I'll speak him, though his ac- 
cents fill 

My heart with that unwonted 
thrill 



Which vulgar minds call fear. 
I will subdue it!' Forth he 
strode, no 

Paused where the blighted oak- 

tree showed 
Its sable shadow on the road, 
And, folding on his bosom broad 
His arms, said, ' Speak — I 
hear.' 

VIII 

The Deep Voice said, ■ wild of 

will, 
Furious thy purpose to fulfil — 
Heart-seared and unrepentant 

still, 
How long, O Harold, shall thy 

tread 
Disturb the slumbers of the 

dead? 
Each step in thy wild way thou 

makest, 120 

The ashes of the dead thou 

wakest ; 
And shout in triumph o'er thy 

path 
The fiends of bloodshed and of 

wrath. 
In this thine hour, yet turn and 

hear! 
For life is brief and judgment 

near.' 

IX 

Then ceased the Voice. — The 

Dane replied 
In tones where awe and inborn 

pride 
For mastery strove, ' In vain ye 

chide 
The wolf for ravaging the flock, 
Or with its hardness taunt the 

rock, — 130 

I am as they — my Danish strain 
Sends streams of fire through 

every vein. 
Amid thy realms of goule and 

ghost, 
Say, is the fame of Eric lost, 
Or Witikind's the Waster, known 



CANTO FIFTH 



535 



Where fame or spoil was to be 

won; 
Whose galleys ne'er bore off a 
shore 
They left not black with 
flame ? — 
He was my sire, — and, sprung 
of him, 139 

That rover merciless and grim, 
Can I be soft and tame ? 
Part hence and with my crimes no 

more upbraid me, 
I am that Waster's son and am 
but what he made me.' 



The Phantom groaned ; — the 
mountain shook around, 

The fawn and wild-doe started at 
the sound, 

The gorse and fern did wildly 
round them wave, 

As if some sudden storm the im- 
pulse gave. 

4 All thou hast said is truth — yet 
on the head 

Of that bad sire let not the charge 
be laid 

That he, like thee, with unrelent- 
ing pace 150 

From grave to cradle ran the evil 
race : — 

Relentless in his avarice and ire, 

Churches and towns he gave to 
sword and fire ; 

Shed blood like water, wasted 
every land, 

Like the destroying angel's burn- 
ing brand; 

Fulfilled whate'er of ill might be 
invented, 

Yes — all these things he did — he 
did, but he repented ! 

Perchance it is part of his punish- 
ment still 

That his offspring pursues his ex- 
ample of ill. 159 

But thou, when thy tempest of 
wrath shall next shake thee, 

Gird thy loins for resistance, my 
son, and awake thee ; 



If thou yield 'st to thy fury, how 

tempted soever, 
The gate of repentance shall ope 

for thee never ! ' 

XI 

' He is gone,' said Lord Harold and 

gazed as he spoke ; 
' There is naught on the path but 

the shade of the oak. 
He is gone whose strange presence 

my feeling oppressed, 
Like the night-hag that sits on the 

slumberer's breast. 
My heart beats as thick as a fugi- 
tive's tread, 
And cold dews drop from my brow 

and my head.— 
Ho! Gunnar, the flasket yon al- 
moner gave; 170 
He said that three drops would 

recall from the grave. 
For the first time Count Harold 

owns leech-craft has power, 
Or, his courage to aid, lacks the 

juice of a flower ! ' 
The page gave the flasket, which 

Walwayn had filled 
With the juice of wild roots that 

his heart had distilled — 
So baneful their influence on all 

that had breath, 
One drop had been frenzy and two 

had been death. 
Harold took it, but drank not ; for 

jubilee shrill 
And music and clamor were heard 

on the hill, 
And down the steep pathway o'er 

stock and o'er stone 180 

The train of a bridal came blithe- 

somely on ; 
There was song, there was pipe, 

there was timbrel, and still 
The burden was, 4 Joy to the fair 

Metelill ! ' 

XII 

Harold might see from his high 
stance, 

Himself unseen, that train ad- 
vance 






536 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



With mirth and melody ; — 
On horse and foot a mingled 

throng, 
Measuring their steps to bridal 
song 
And bridal minstrelsy; 
And ever when the blithesome 
rout 190 

Lent to the song their choral 

shout, 
Redoubling echoes rolled about, 
While echoing cave and cliff sent 
out 
The answering symphony 
Of all those mimic notes which 

dwell 
In hollow rock and sounding dell. 

XIII 

Joy shook his torch above the 

band, 
By many a various passion 

fanned; — 
As elemental sparks can feed 
On essence pure and coarsest 

weed, 200 

Gentle or stormy or refined, 
Joy takes the colors of the mind. 
Lightsome and pure but unre- 

pressed, 
He fired the bridegroom's gallant 

breast ; 
More feebly strove with maiden 

fear, 
Yet still joy glimmered through 

the tear 
On the bride's blushing cheek that 

shows 
Like dewdrop on the budding 

rose; 
While Wulfstane's gloomy smile 

declared 
The glee that selfish avarice 

shared, 210 

And pleased revenge and malice 

high 
Joy's semblance took in Jutta's 

eye. 
On dangerous adventure sped, 
The witch deemed Harold with 

the dead, 



For thus that morn her demon 

said : — 
1 If, ere the set of sun, be tied 
The knot 'twixt bridegroom and 

his bride, 
The Dane shall have no power of 

ill 
O'er William and o'er Metelill.' 
And the pleased witch made an- 
swer, ' Then 220 
Must Harold have passed from 

the paths of men ! 
Evil repose may his spirit have, — 
May hemlock and mandrake find 

root in his grave, — 
May his death-sleep be dogged by 

dreams of dismay, 
And his waking be worse at the 

answering day ! ' 

XIV 

Such was their various mood of 

glee 
Blent in one shout of ecstasy. 
But still when Joy is brimming 

highest, 
Of sorrow and misfortune nighest, 
Of Terror with her ague cheek, 230 
And lurking Danger, sages 

speak : — 
These haunt each path, but chief 

they lay 
Their snares beside the primrose 

way. — 
Thus found that bridal band their 

path 
Beset by Harold in his wrath. 
Trembling beneath his maddening 

mood, 
High on a rock the giant stood ; 
His shout was like the doom of 

death 
Spoke o'er their heads that passed 

beneath. 
His destined victims might not 

spy 240 

The reddening terrors of his eye, 
The frown of rage that writhed 

his face, 
The lip that foamed like boar's in 

chase j 



CANTO FIFTH 



537 



But all could see — and, seeing, all 
Bore back to shun the threatened 

fall — 
The fragment which their giant foe 
Rent from the cliff and heaved to 

throw. 

xv 
Backward they bore— yet are 
there two 
For battle who prepare : 
No pause of dread Lord William 
knew 250 

Ere his good blade was bare ; 
And Wulf stane bent his fatal yew, 
But ere the silken cord he drew, 
As hurled from Hecla's thunder 
flew 
That ruin through the air ! 
Full on the outlaw's front it came, 
And all that late had human name, 
And human face, and human 

frame, 
That lived and moved and had free 

will 
To choose the path of good or ill, 
Is to its reckoning gone ; 261 
And naught of Wulf stane rests be- 
hind 
Save that beneath that stone, 
Half-buried in the dinted clay, 
A red and shapeless mass there lay 
Of mingled flesh and bone ! 

XVI 

As from the bosom of the sky 

The eagle darts amain, 
Three bounds from yonder sum- 
mit high 
Placed Harold on the plain. 270 
As the scared wild-fowl scream 
and fly, 
So fled the bridal train ; 
As 'gainst the eagle's peerless 

might 
The noble falcon dares the fight, 

But dares the fight in vain, 
So fought the bridegroom; from 

his hand 
The Dane's rude mace has struck 
his brand, 



Its glittering fragments strew the 
sand, 
Its lord lies on the plain. 
Now, Heaven! take noble Wil- 
liam's part, 280 
And melt that yet unmelted heart, 
Or, ere his bridal hour depart, 
The hapless bridegroom 's slain ! 

XVII 

Count Harold's frenzied rage is 

high, 
There is a death-fire in his eye, 
Deep furrows on his brow are 

trenched, 
His teeth are set, his hand is 

clenched, 
The foam upon his lip is white, 
His deadly arm is up to smite ! 
But, as the mace aloft he swung, 
To stop the blow young Gunnar 

sprung, 291 

Around his master's knees he 

clung, 
And cried, ' In mercy spare ! 
O, think upon the words of fear 
Spoke by that visionary Seer, 
The crisis he foretold is here, — 

Grant mercy, — or despair ! ' 
This word suspended Harold's 

mood, 
Yet still with arm upraised he 

stood, 
And visage like the headsman's 

rude 300 

That pauses for the sign. 
' O mark thee with the blessed 

rood,' 
The page implored. ' Speak word 

of good, 
Resist the fiend or be subdued ! ■ 

He signed the cross divine — 
Instant his eye hath human 

light, 
Less red, less keen, less fiercely 

bright ; 
His brow relaxed the obdurate 

frown, 
The fatal mace sinks gently down, 
He turns and strides away; 310 
Yet oft, like revellers who leave 



538 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



Unfinished feast, looks back to 

grieve, 
As if repenting the reprieve 

He granted to his prey. 
Yet still of forbearance one sign 

hath he given, 
And fierce Witikind's son made 

one step towards heaven. 

XVIII 

But though his dreaded footsteps 

part, 
Death is behind and shakes his 

dart ; 
Lord William on the plain is lying, 
Beside him Metelill seems dy- 
ing!— 320 
Bring odors — essences in haste *— 
And lo ! a flasket richly chased, — 
But Jutta the elixir proves 
Ere pouring it for those she 

loves — 
Then Walwayn's potion was not 

wasted, 
For when three drops the hag had 
tasted 
So dismal was her yell, 
Each bird of evil omen woke, 
The raven gave his fatal croak, 
And shrieked the night-crow from 
the oak, 330 

The screech-owl from the thicket 
broke, 
And fluttered down the dell ! 
So fearful was the sound and stern, 
The slumbers of the full-gorged 

erne 
Were startled, and from furze and 
fern 
Of forest and of fell 
The fox and famished wolf re- 
plied — 
For wolves then prowled the Che- 
viot side — 
From mountain head to mountain 

head 
The unhallowed sounds around 
were sped ; 340 

But when their latest echo fled 
The sorceress on the ground lay 
dead. 



XIX 

Such was the scene of blood and 

woes 
With which the bridal morn arose 

Of William and of Metelill; 
But oft, when dawning 'gins to 

spread, 
The summer morn peeps dim and 

red 
Above the eastern hill, 
Ere, bright and fair, upon his road 
The king of splendor walks 

abroad; 350 

So, when this cloud had passed 

away, 
Bright was the noontide of their day 
And all serene its setting ray. 



CANTO SIXTH 



WELii do I hope that this my 

minstrel tale 
Will tempt no traveller from 

southern fields, 
Whether in tilbury, barouche, or 

mail, 
To view the Castle of these 

Seven Proud Shields. 
Small confirmation its condition 

yields 
To Meneville's high lay, — no 

towers are seen 
On the wild heath but those that 

Fancy builds, 
And, save a fosse that tracks the 

moor with green, 
Is naught remains to tell of what 

may there have been. 

And yet grave authors, with the 
no small waste 10 

Of their grave time, have digni- 
fied the spot 

By theories, to prove the fortress 
placed 

By Roman bands to curb the in- 
vading Scot. 

Hutchinson, Horseley, Camden, 
I might quote, 



CANTO SIXTH 



539 



But rather choose the theory 

less civil 
Of boors, who, origin of things 

forgot, 
Refer still to the origin of evil, 
And for their master-mason choose 

that master-fiend the Devil. 

ii 

Therefore, I say, it was on fiend- 
built towers 
That stout Count Harold bent 

his wondering gaze 20 

When evening dew was on the 

heather flowers, 
And the last sunbeams made the 

mountain blaze 
And tinged the battlements of 

other days 
With the bright level light ere 

sinking down. 
Illumined thus, the dauntless 

Dane surveys 
The Seven Proud Shields that 

o'er the portal frown, 
And on their blazons traced high 

marks of old renown. 

A wolf North Wales had on his 
armor-coat, 

And Rhys of Powis-land a couch- 
ant stag ; 

Strath-Clwyd's strange emblem 
was a stranded boat, 30 

Donald of Galloway's a trotting 
nag; 

A corn -sheaf gilt was fertile 
Lodon's brag ; 

A dudgeon-dagger was by Dun- 
mail worn ; 

Northumbrian Adolf gave a sea- 
beat crag 

Surmounted by a cross — such 
signs were borne 
Upon these antique shields, all 
wasted now and worn. 

in 

These scanned, Count Harold 
sought the castle-door, 

Whose ponderous bolts were 
rusted to decay ; 



Yet till that hour adventurous 

knight forbore 
The unobstructed passage to 

essay. 40 

More strong than armed ward- 
ers in array, 
And obstacle more sure than 

bolt or bar, 
Sate in the portal Terror and 

Dismay, 
While Superstition, who forbade 

to war 
With foes of other mould than 

mortal clay, 
Cast spells across the gate and 

barred the onward way. 

Vain now those spells ; for soon 

with heavy clank 
The feebly-fastened gate was in- 
ward pushed, 
And, as it oped, through that 

emblazoned rank 
Of antique shields the wind of 

evening rushed 50 

With sound most like a groan 

and then was hushed. 
Is none who on such spot such 

sounds could hear 
But to his heart the blood had 

faster rushed ; 
Yet to bold Harold's breast that 

throb was dear — 
It spoke of danger nigh, but had 

no touch of fear. 

IV 

Yet Harold and his page no 

signs have traced 
Within the castle that of danger 

showed ; 
For still the halls and courts 

were wild and waste, 
As through their precincts the 

adventurers trode. 
The seven huge towers rose 

stately, tall, and broad, 60 
Each tower presenting to their 

scrutiny 
A hall in which a king might 

make abode, 



540 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



And fast beside, garnished both 
proud and high, 
Was placed a bower for rest in 
which a king might lie. 

As if a bridal there of late had 

been, 
Decked stood the table in each 

gorgeous hall ; 
And yet it was two hundred 

years, I ween, 
Since date of that unhallowed 

festival. 
Flagons and ewers and standing 

cups were all 
Of tarnished gold or silver no- 
thing clear, 70 
With throne begilt and canopy 

of pall, 
And tapestry clothed the walls 

with fragments sear — 
Frail as the spider's mesh did that 

rich woof appear. 



In every bower, as round a 

hearse, was hung 
A dusky crimson curtain o'er 

the bed, 
And on each couch in ghastly 

wise were flung 
The wasted relics of a monarch 

dead; 
Barbaric ornaments around were 

spread, 
Vests twined with gold and 

chains of precious stone, 
And golden circlets, meet for 

monarch's head ; 80 

While grinned, as if in scorn 

amongst them thrown, 
The wearer's fleshless skull, alike 

with dust bestrewn. 

For these were they who, 
drunken with delight, 

On pleasure's opiate pillow laid 
their head, 

For whom the bride's shy foot- 
step, slow and light, 



Was changed ere morning to the 

murderer's tread. 
For human bliss and woe in the 

frail thread 
Of human life are all so closely 

twined 
That till the shears of Fate the 

texture shred 
The close succession cannot be 

disjoined, 9 o 

Nor dare we from one hour judge 

that which comes behind. 



VI 

But where the work of ven- 
geance had been done, 

In that seventh chamber, was a 
sterner sight, 

There of the witch-brides lay 
each skeleton, 

Still in the posture as to death 
when dight. 

For this lay prone, by one blow 
slain outright ; 

And that, as one who struggled 
long in dying ; 

One bony hand held knife, as if 
to smite ; 

One bent on fleshless knees, as 
mercy crying ; 
One lay across the door, as killed 
in act of flying. 100 

The stern Dane smiled this char- 
nel-house to see, — 

For his chafed thought returned 
toMetelill: — 

And < Well,' he said, 'hath wo- 
man's perfidy, 

Empty as air, as water volatile, 

Been here avenged. — The origin 
of ill 

Through woman rose, the Chris- 
tian doctrine saith; 

Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy 
minstrel skill 

Can show example where a wo- 
man's breath 
Hath made a true-love vow, and 
tempted kept her faith.' 



CANTO SIXTH 



54i 



VII 


What maid e'er showed such 


The minstrel-boy half smiled, 


constancy 


half sighed, no 


In plighted faith, like thine to 


And his half-filling eyes he dried, 


me? 


And said, ■ The theme I should 


But couch thee, boy ; the dark- 


but wrong, 


some shade 


Unless it were my dying song — 


Falls thickly round, nor be dis- 


Our Scalds have said, in dying 


mayed 140 


hour 


Because the dead are by. 


The Northern harp has treble 


They were as we; our little 


power — 


day 


Else could I tell of woman's 


O'erspent, and we shall be as 


faith, 


they. 


Defying danger, scorn, and death. 


Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou 


Firm was that faith — as dia- 


laid, 


mond stone 


Thy couch upon my mantle 


Pure and unflawed — her love 


made, 


unknown 119 


That thou mayst think, should 


And unrequited ; firm and pure, 


fear invade, 


Her stainless faith could all en- 


Thy master slumbers nigh.' 


dure; 


Thus couched they in that dread 


From clime to clime, from place 


abode, 


to place, 


Until the beams of dawning 


Through want and danger and 


glowed. 


disgrace. 




A wanderer's wayward steps 


IX 


could trace. 


An altered man Lord Harold 


All this she did, and guerdon 


rose, 150 


none 


When he beheld that dawn un- 


Required save that her burial- 


close — 


stone 


There 's trouble in his eyes, 


Should make at length the secret 


And traces on his brow and 


known, 


cheek 


"Thus hath a faithful woman 


Of mingled awe and wonder 


done." — 


speak : 


Not in each breast such truth is 


1 My page/ he said, 4 arise ; — 


laid, 129 


Leave we this place, my page.' 


•But Eivir was a Danish maid.' 


— No more 




He uttered till the castle door 




They crossed — but there he 


VIII 


paused and said, 


1 Thou art a wild enthusiast,' 


'My wildness hath awaked the 


said 


dead — 


Count Harold, ' for thy Danish 


Disturbed the sacred tomb ! 160 


maid; 


Methought this night I stood on 


And yet, young Gunnar, I will 


high 


own 


Where Hecla roars in middle 


Hers were a faith to rest upon. 


sky, 


But Eivir sleeps beneath her 


And in her caverned gulfs could 


stone 


spy 


And all resembling her are gone. 


The central place of doom ; 



542 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



And there before my mortal 
eye 

Souls of the dead came flitting 
by, 

Whom fiends with many a fiend- 
ish cry 
Bore to that evil den ! 

My eyes grew dizzy and my 
brain 

Was wildered, as the elvish 
train 170 

With shriek and howl dragged 
on amain 
Those who had late been men. 



* With haggard eyes and stream- 
ing hair, 
Jutta the Sorceress was there, 
And there passed Wulfstane 

lately slain, 
All crushed and foul with bloody 

stain. — 
More had I seen, but that uprose 
A whirlwind wild and swept the 

snows ; 
And with such sound as when 

at need 
A champion spurs his horse to 

speed, 180 

Three armed knights rush on 

who lead 
Caparisoned a sable steed. 
Sable their harness, and there 

came 
Through their closed visors 

sparks of flame. 
The first proclaimed, in sounds 

of fear, 
" Harold the Dauntless, welcome 

here ! " 
The next cried, " Jubilee ! we 've 

won 
Count Witikind the Waster's 

son ! " 
And the third rider sternly 

spoke, 
" Mount, in the name of Zerne- 

bock ! — 190 

From us, O Harold, were thy 

powers, — 



Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, 

are ours ; 
Nor think, a vassal thou of hell, 
With hell can strive." The fiend 

spoke true ! 
My inmost soul the summons 

knew, 
As captives know the knell 
That says the headsman's sword 

is bare 
And with an accent of despair 
Commands them quit their 

cell. 
I felt resistance was in vain, 200 
My foot had that fell stirrup 

ta'en, 
My hand was on the fatal mane, 

When to my rescue sped 
That palmer's visionary form, 
And — like the passing of a 

storm — 
The demons yelled and fled ! 

XI 

1 His sable cowl flung back re- 
vealed 

The features it before concealed ; 
And, Gunnar, I could find 

In him whose counsels strove to 
stay 210 

So oft my course on wilful way 
My father Witikind ! 

Doomed for his sins and doomed 
for mine 

A wanderer upon earth to pine 

Until his son shall turn to grace 

And smooth for him a resting- 
place. — 

Gunnar, he must not haunt in 
vain 

This world of wretchedness and 
pain: 

I '11 tame my wilful heart to live 

In peace — to pity and forgive — 

And thou, for so the Vision 
said 221 

Must in thy lord's repentance 
aid. 

Thy mother was a prophetess, 

He said, who by her skill could 
guess 



CANTO SIXTH 



543 



How close the fatal textures 

join 
Which knit thy thread of life 

with mine ; 
Then dark he hinted of disguise 
She framed to cheat too curious 

eyes 
That not a moment might divide 
Thy fated footsteps from my 

side. 230 

Methought while thus my sire 

did teach 
I caught the meaning of his 

speech, 
Yet seems its purport doubtful 

now.' 
His hand then sought his 

thoughtful brow — 
Then first he marked, that in the 

tower 
His glove was left at waking 

hour. 

XII 

Trembling at first and deadly 

pale, 
Had Gunnar heard the visioned 

tale; 
But when he learned the dubious 

close 
He blushed like any opening 

rose, 240 

And, glad to hide his tell-tale 

cheek, 
Hied back that glove of mail to 

seek; 
When soon a shriek of deadly 

dread 
Summoned his master to his aid. 

XIII 

What sees Count Harold in that 

bower 
So late his resting-place ? — 
The semblance of the Evil 

Power, 
Adored by all his race ! 
Odin in living form stood there, 
His cloak the spoils of Polar 

bear ; 250 

For plumy crest a meteor shed 



Its gloomy radiance o'er his 

head, 
Yet veiled its haggard majesty 
To the wild lightnings of his eye. 
Such height was his as when in 

stone 
O'er Upsal's giant altar shown : 

So flowed his hoary beard ; 
Such was his lance of mountain- 
pine, 
So did his sevenfold buckler 

shine : 
But when his voice he reared, 
Deep without harshness, slow 

and strong, 261 

The powerful accents rolled 

along, 
And while he spoke his hand 

was laid 
On captive Gunnar's shrinking 

head. 

xrv 

1 Harold,' he said, * what rage is 

thine 
To quit the worship of thy line, 
To leave thy Warrior-God ? — 
With me is glory or disgrace, 
Mine is the onset and the chase, 
Embattled hosts before my face 
Are withered by a nod. 271 
Wilt thou then forfeit that high 

seat 
Deserved by many a dauntless 

feat 
Among the heroes of thy line, 
Eric and fiery Thorarine? — 
Thou wilt not. Only I can give 
The joys for which the valiant 

live, 
Victory and vengeance — only I 
Can give the joys for which they 

die, 
The immortal tilt — the banquet 

full, 280 

The brimming draught from foe- 
man's skull. 
Mine art thou, witness this thy 

glove, 
The faithful pledge of vassal's 

love.' 



544 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS 



xv 
1 Tempter,' said Harold, firm of 

heart, 
* I charge thee, hence ! whatever 

thou art, 
I do defy thee — and resist 
The kindling frenzy of my 

breast, 
Waked by thy words; and of 

my mail 
Nor glove nor buckler, splent nor 

nail, 
Shall rest with thee— that youth 

release, 290 

And, God or Demon, part in 

peace.'— 
4 Eivir,' the Shape replied, 'is 

mine, 
Marked in the birth-hour with 

my sign. 
Think'st thou that priest with 

drops of spray 
Could wash that blood-red mark 

away? 
Or that a borrowed sex and 

name 
Can abrogate a Godhead's 

claim ? ' 
Thrilled this strange speech 

through Harold's brain, 
He clenched his teeth in high 

disdain, 
For not his new-born faith sub- 
dued 300 
Some tokens of his ancient 

mood. — 
* Now, by the hope so lately given 
Of better trust and purer hea- 
ven, 
I will assail thee, fiend ! ' — Then 

rose 
His mace, and with a storm of 

blows 
The mortal and the demon close. 

XVI 

Smoke rolled above, fire flashed 

around, 
Darkened the sky and shook the 

ground ; 
But not the artillery of hell, 



The bickering lightning, nor the 

rock 3 x <> 

Of turrets to the earthquake's 

shock, 
Could Harold's courage quell. 
Sternly the Dane his purpose 

kept, 
And blows on blows resistless 

heaped, 
Till quailed that demon form, 
And — for his power to hurt or 

kill 
Was bounded by a higher will — 

Evanished in a storm. 
Nor paused the Champion of the 

North, 
But raised and bore his Eivir 

forth 320 

From that wild scene of fiendish 

strife 
To light, to liberty, and life ! 



XVII 

He placed her on a bank of 

moss, 
A silver runnel bubbled by, 
And new-born thoughts his soul 

engross, 
And tremors yet unknown across 

His stubborn sinews fly, 
The while with timid hand the 

dew 
Upon her brow and neck he 

threw, 
And marked how life with rosy 

hue 330 

On her pale cheek revived anew 

And glimmered in her eye. 
Inly he said, 'That silken 

tress — 
What blindness mine that could 

not guess ! 
Or how could page's rugged 

dress 
That bosom's pride belie? 
O, dull of heart, through wild 

and wave 
In search of blood and death to 

rave, 
With such a partner nigh ! ' 



CANTO SIXTH 



545 



XVIII 

Then in the mirrored pool he 
peered, 340 

Blamed his rough locks and 
shaggy beard, 

The stains of recent conflict 
cleared, — 
And thus the Champion proved 

That he fears now who never 
feared, 
And loves who never loved. 

And Eivir — life is 011 her cheek 

And yet she will not move or 
speak, 
Nor will her eyelid fully ope ; 

Perchance it loves, that half- 
shut eye, 

Through its long fringe, reserved 
and shy, 350 

Affection's opening dawn to 
spy; 

And the deep blush, which bids 
its dye 

O'er cheek and brow and bosom 

fly, 

Speaks shamefacedness and 
hope. 

XIX 

But vainly seems the Dane to 

seek 
For terms his new-born love to 

speak, — 
For words, save those of wrath 

and wrong, 
Till now were strangers to his 

tongue ; 
So, when he raised the blushing 

maid, 
In blunt and honest terms he 

said— 360 



'T were well that maids, when 

lovers woo, 
Heard none more soft, were all 

as true — 
'Eivir! since thou for many a 

day 
Hast followed Harold's way- 

ward way, 
It is but meet that in the line 
Of after-life I follow thine. 
To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert's 

tide, 
And we will grace his altar's 

side, 
A Christian knight and Christian 

bride ; 
And of Witikind's son shall the 

marvel be said 370 

That on the same morn he was 

christened and wed.' 

CONCLUSION 

And now, Ennui, what ails thee, 

weary maid ? 
And why these listless looks of 

yawning sorrow ? 
No need to turn the page as if 't 

were lead, 
Or fling aside the volume till to- 
morrow. — 
Be cheered — 't is ended — and I 

will not borrow, 
To try thy patience more, one 

anecdote 
From Bartholine or Perinskiold or 

Snorro. 
Then pardon thou thy minstrel, 

who hath wrote 
A tale six cantos long, yet scorned 

to add a note. 



546 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



THE DYING BAKD 

Air— 1 Daffy 'dz Gangwen. 1 

Dinas Emlinn, lament; for the 

moment is nigh, 
When mute in the woodlands thine 

echoes shall die : 
No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon 

shall rave, 
And mix his wild notes with the 

wild dashing wave. 

In spring and in autumn thy 

glories of shade 
Unhonored shall flourish, unhon- 

ored shall fade ; 
For soon shall be lifeless the eye 

and the tongue 
That viewed them with rapture, 

with rapture that sung. 

Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may 

march in their pride, 
And chase the proud Saxon from 

Prestatyn's side ; 
But where is the harp shall give 

life to their name ? 
And where is the bard shall give 

heroes their fame ? 

And 0, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daugh- 
ters so fair, 

Who heave the white bosom and 
wave the dark hair ; 

What tuneful enthusiast shall 
worship their eye, 

When half of their charms with 
Cadwallon shall die ? 

Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit 

thy loved scene 
To join the dim choir of the bards 

who have been ; 
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and 

Merlin the Old, 
And sage Taliessin, high harping 

to hold. 



And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still 

green be thy shades, 
Unconquered thy warriors and 

matchless thy maids ! 
And thou whose faint warblings 

my weakness can tell, 
Farewell, my loved harp ! my last 

treasure, farewell ! 

THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE 

Air — ' The War- Song of the Men of 
Glamorgan. 1 

Red glows the forge in Striguil's 

bounds, 
And hammers din, and anvil 

sounds, 
And armorers with iron toil 
Barb many a steed for battle's 

broil. 
Foul fall the hand which bends 

the steel 
Around the courser's thundering 

heel, 
That e'er shall dint a sable wound 
On fair Glamorgan's velvet 

ground ! 

From Chepstow's towers ere dawn 

of morn 
Was heard afar the bugle-horn, 
And forth in banded pomp and 

pride 
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. 
They swore their banners broad 

should gleam 
In crimson light on Rymny's 

stream ; 
They vowed Caerphili's sod should 

feel 
The Norman charger's spurning 

heel. 

And sooth they swore — the sun 

arose, 
And Rymny's wave with crimson 

glows ; 



THE PALMER 



547 



For Clare's red banner, floating 


Till the shout and the groan and 


wide, 


the conflict's dread rattle, 


Rolled down the stream to Severn's 


And the chase's wild clamor, 


tide! 


came loading the gale. 


And sooth they vowed— the tram- 


Breathless she gazed on the wood- 


pled green 


lands so dreary ; 


Showed where hot Neville's charge 


Slowly approaching a warrior 


had been : 


was seen ; 


In every sable hoof-tramp stood 


Life's ebbing tide marked his foot- 


A Norman horseman's curdling 


steps so weary, 


blood ! 


Cleft was his helmet and woe 




was his mien. 


Old Chepstow's brides may curse 




the toil 


'0, save thee, fair maid, for our 


That armed stout Clare for Cam- 


armies are flying ! 


brian broil ; 


0, save thee, fair maid, for thy 


Their orphans long the art may 


guardian is low ! 


rue, 


Deadly cold on yon heath thy 


For Neville's warhorse forged the 


brave Henry is lying, 


shoe. 


And fast through the woodland 


No more the stamp of armed steed 


approaches the foe.' 


Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet 


Scarce could he falter the tidings 


mead ; 


of sorrow, 


Nor trace be there in early spring 


And scarce could she hear them, 


Save of the Fairies' emerald ring. 


benumbed with despair : 




And when the sun sunk on the 




sweet lake of Toro, 




Forever he set to the Brave and 


THE MAID OF TORO 


the Fair. 


0, low shone the sun on the fair 




lake of Toro, 




And weak were the whispers 


THE PALMER 


that waved the dark wood, 




All as a fair maiden, bewildered 


' 0, open the door, some pity to 


in sorrow, 


show, 


Sorely sighed to the breezes and 


Keen blows the northern wind ! 


• wept to the flood. 


The glen is white with the drifted 


'0 saints, from the mansions of 


snow, 


bliss lowly bending ! 


And the path is hard to find. 


Sweet Virgin, who hear est the 




suppliant's cry ! 


1 No outlaw seeks your castle gate, 


Now grant my petition in anguish 


From chasing the king's deer, 


ascending, 


Though even an outlaw's wretched 


My Henry restore or let Eleanor 


state 


die!' 


Might claim compassion here. 


All distant aDd faint were the 


1 A weary Palmer, worn and weak, 


sounds of the battle, 


I wander for my sin ; 


With the breezes they rise, with 


0, open, for Our Lady's sake I 


the breezes they fail, 


A pilgrim's blessing win! 



54 8 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



* I '11 give you pardons from the 

Pope, 
And reliques from o'er the sea,— 
Or if for these you will not ope, 
Yet open for charity. 

4 The hare is crouching in her form, 
The hart beside the hind ; 

An aged man amid the storm, 
No shelter can I find. 

* You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar, 

Dark, deep, and strong is he, 
And I must ford the Ettrick o'er, 
Unless you pity me. 

* The iron gate is holted hard, 

At which I knock in vain ; 
The owner's heart is closer barred, 
Who hears me thus complain. 

4 Farewell, farewell ! and Mary 
grant, 

When old and frail you be, 
You never may the shelter want 

That's now denied to me.' 

The ranger on his couch lay warm, 
And heard him plead in vain ; 

But oft amid December's storm 
He '11 hear that voice again : 

For lo ! when through the vapors 
dank 

Morn shone on Ettrick fair, 
A corpse amid the alders rank, 

The Palmer weltered there. 



THE MAID OF NEIDPATH 

O, lovers' eyes are sharp to 
see, 

And lovers' ears in hearing ; 
And love in life's extremity 

Can lend an hour of cheering. 
Disease had been in Mary's bower, 

And slow decay from mourning, 
Though now she sits on Neidpath's 
tower 

To watch her love's returning. 



All sunk and dim her eyes so 
bright, 

Her form decayed by pining, 
Till through her wasted hand at 
night 

You saw the taper shining ; 
By fits, a sultry hectic hue 

Across her cheek was flying ; 
By fits, so ashy pale she grew, 

Her maidens thought her dying. 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear 

Seemed in her frame residing ; 
Before the watch-dog pricked his 
ear, 
She heard her lover's riding ; 
Ere scarce a distant form was 
kenned, 
She knew, and waved to greet 
him; 
And o'er the battlement did bend, 
As on the wing to meet him. 

He came — he passed — an heed- 
less gaze, 
As o'er some stranger glancing ; 
Her welcome, spoke in faltering 
phrase, 
Lost in his courser's prancing — 
The castle arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken, 
Could scarcely catch the feeble 
moan 
Which told her heart was broken. 



WANDERING WILLIE 

All joy was bereft me the day 
that you left me, 
And climbed the tall vessel to 
sail yon wide sea ; 
weary betide it ! I wandered be- 
side it, 
And banned it for parting my 
Willie and me. 

Far o'er the wave hast thou fol- 
lowed thy fortune, 
Oft fought the squadrons of 
France and of Spain ; 






HEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE 



549 



Ae kiss of welcome 's worth twenty 
at parting, 
Now I hae gotten my Willie 
again. 

When the sky it was mirk, and the 
winds they were wailing, 
I sat on the beach wi' the tear 
in my ee, 
And thought o' the hark where my 
Willie was sailing, 
And wished that the tempest 
could a' blaw on me. 

Now that thy gallant ship rides at 
her mooring, 
Now that my wanderer 's in 
safety at hame, 
Music to me were the wildest 
winds' roaring, 
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove 
the dark ocean faem. 

WTien the lights they did blaze, 
and the guns they did rattle, 
And blithe was each heart for 
the great victory, 
In secret I wept for the dangers 
of battle, 
And thy glory itself was scarce 
comfort to me. 

But now shalt thou tell, while I 
eagerly listen, 
Of each bold adventure and 
every brave scar ; 
And trust me, I'll smile, though 
my een they may glisten, 
For sweet after danger's the 
tale of the war. 

And 0, how we doubt when there 's 
distance 'tween lovers, 
When there 's naething to speak 
to the heart thro' the ee ! 
How often the kindest and warm- 
est prove rovers, 
And the love of the faithfullest 
ebbs like the sea ! 

Till, at times — could I help it? — 
I pined and I pondered 



If love could change notes like 
the bird on the tree — 
Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes 
may hae wandered ; 
Enough, thy leal heart has been 
constant to me. 

Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea 
and through channel, 
Hardships and danger despising 
for fame, 
Furnishing story for glory's bright 
annal, 
Welcome, my wanderer, to 
Jeanie and hame ! 

Enough now thy story in annals 
of glory 
Has humbled the pride of France, 
Holland, and Spain ; 
No more shalt thou grieve me, no 
more shalt thou leave me, 
I never will part with my Willie 
again. 



HEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE 

Are — Carrickfergus. 

Since here we are set in array 
round the table, 
Five hundred good fellows well 
met in a hall, 
Come listen, brave boys, and I'll 
sing as I 'm able, 
How innocence triumphed and 
pride got a fall. 
But push round the claret — 
Come, stewards, don't spare 
it— 
With rapture you '11 drink to the 
toast that I give ; 
Here, boys, 
Off with it merrily — 
Melville for ever, and long may he 
live! 

What were the Whigs doing, when 
boldly pursuing 
Pitt banished Rebellion, gave 
Treason a string; 



550 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Why, they swore on their honor, 
for Arthur O'Connor, 
And fought hard for Despard 
against country and king. 
Well, then, we knew, boys, 
Pitt and Melville were true 
boys, 
And the tempest was raised by the 
friends of Reform. 
Ah! woe! 

Weep to his memory ; 
Low lies the pilot that weathered 
the storm ! 

And pray, don't you mind when 
the Blues first were raising, 
And we scarcely could think the 
house safe o'er our heads ? 
When villains and coxcombs, 
French politics praising, 
Drove peace from our tables and 
sleep from our beds? 
Our hearts they grew bolder 
When, musket on shoulder, 
Stepped forth our old Statesmen 
example to give. 
Come, boys, never fear, 
Drink the Blue grenadier — 
Here 's to old Harry, and long may 
he live! 

They would turn us adrift, though 
rely, sir, upon it, 
Our own faithful chronicles war- 
rant us that 
The free mountaineer and his 
bonny blue bonnet 
Have oft gone as far as the regu- 
lar's hat. 
We laugh at their taunting, 
For all we are wanting 
Is license our life for our country 
to give. 
Off with it merrily, 
Horse, foot, and artillery, 
Each loyal Volunteer, long may he 
live ! 

'T is not us alone, boys — the Army 
and Navy 
Have each got a slap 'mid their 
politic pranks ; 



Cornwallis cashiered, that watched 
winters to save ye, 
And the Cape called a bauble 
unworthy of thanks. 
But vain is their taunt, 
No soldier shall want 
The thanks that his country to 
valor can give : 
Come, boys, 
Drink it off merrily, — 
Sir David and Popham, and long 
may they live ! 

And then our revenue — Lord 
knows how they viewed it, 
While each petty statesman 
talked lofty and big ; 
But the beer-tax was weak, as if 
Whitbread had brewed it, 
And the pig-iron duty a shame 
to a pig. 
In vain is their vaunting, 
Too surely there 's wanting 
What judgment, experience, and 
steadiness give : 
Come, boys, 
Drink about merrily, — 
Health to sage Melville, and long 
may he live ! 

Our King, too — our Princess — I 
dare not say more, sir, — 
May Providence watch them 
with mercy and might ! 
While there 's one Scottish hand 
that can wag a claymore, sir, 
They shall ne'er want a friend to 
stand up for their right. 
Be damned he that dare not, — 
For my part, I '11 spare not 
To beauty afflicted a tribute to 
give. 
Fill it up steadily, 
Drink it off readily — 
Here 's to the Princess, and long 
may she live ! 

And since we must not set Auld 
Reekie in glory, 
And make her brown visage as 
light as her heart ; 



SONG 



551 



Till each man illumine his own 
upper story, 
Nor law-book nor lawyer shall 
force us to part. 
In Grenville and Spencer, 
And some few good men, sir, 
High talents we honor, slight dif- 
ference forgive ; 
But the Brewer we '11 hoax, 
Tallyho to the Fox, 
And drink Melville forever, as long 
as we live ! 



HUNTING SONG 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
On the mountain dawns the day, 
All the jolly chase is here, 
With hawk and horse and hunting. 

spear ! 
Hounds are in their couples yell- 
ing, 
Hawks are whistling, horns are 

knelling, 
Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 
4 Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
The mist has left the mountain 

gray, 
Springlets in the dawn are steam- 
ing, 
Diamonds on the brake are gleam- 

ing: 
And foresters have busy been 
To track the buck in thicket 

green; 
Now we come to chant our lay, 
4 Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the green-wood haste away ; 
We can show you where he 

lies, 
Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he 

made, 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers 

frayed ; 



You shall see him brought to bay, 
1 Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 

Louder, louder chant the lay, 
Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
Tell them youth and mirth aud glee 
Run a course as well as we ; 
Time, stern huntsman, who can 

balk, 
Stanch as hound and fleet as 

hawk? 
Think of this and rise with day, 
Gentle lords and ladies gay. 



SONG 







say not, my love, with that 
mortified air, 
That your spring-time of plea- 
sure is flown, 
Nor bid me to maids that are 
younger repair 
For those raptures that still are 
thine own. 

Though April his temples may 
wreathe with the vine, 
Its tendrils in infancy curled, 
'T is the ardor of August matures 
us the wine 
Whose life-blood enlivens the 
world. 

Though thy form that was fash- 
ioned as light as a fay's 
Has assumed a proportion more 
round, 
And thy glance that was bright as 
a falcon's at gaze 
Looks soberly now on the 
ground, — 

Enough, after absence to meet me 
again 
Thy steps still with ecstasy 
move; 
Enough, that those dear sober 
glances retain 
For me the kind language of 
love, 



55* 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



THE RESOLVE 


No silken net so slightly wrought 




Shall tangle me again : 


IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENG- 


No more I '11 pay so dear for wit, 


LISH POEM 


I '11 live upon mine own, 




Nor shall wild passion trouble it,— 


My wayward fate I needs must 


I '11 rather dwell alone. 


plain, 




Though bootless be the theme ; 


And thus I '11 hush my heart to 


I loved and was beloved again, 


rest, — 


Yet all was but a dream : 


* Thy loving labor 's lost ; 


For, as her love was quickly got, 


Thou shalt no more be wildly blest, 


So it was quickly gone ; 


To be so strangely crost : 


No more I '11 bask in flame so hot, 


The widowed turtles mateless die, 


But coldly dwell alone. 


The phoenix is but one ; 




They seek no loves — no more will 


Not maid more bright than maid 


I — 


was e'er 


I '11 rather dwell alone.' 


My fancy shall beguile, 




By flattering word or feigned tear, 




By gesture, look, or smile ; 


EPITAPH 


No more I'll call the shaft fair 




shot, 


DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT IN 


Till it has fairly flown, 


LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT 


Nor scorch me at a flame so hot — 


THE BURIAL-PLACE OF THE 


I '11 rather freeze alone. 


FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD 


Each ambushed Cupid I '11 defy 


Amid these aisles where once his 


In cheek or chin or brow, 


precepts showed 


And deem the glance of woman's 


The heavenward pathway which 


eye 


in life he trode, 


As weak as woman's vow : 


This simple tablet marks a Fa- 


I '11 lightly hold the lady's heart, 


ther's bier, 


That is but lightly won ; 


And those he loved in life in death 


I '11 steel my breast to beauty's art, 


are near ; 


And learn to live alone. 


For him, for them, a Daughter 




bade it rise, 


The flaunting torch soon blazes 


Memorial of domestic charities. 


out, 


Still wouldst thou know why o'er 


The diamond's ray abides ; 


the marble spread 


The flame its glory hurls about, 


In female grace the willow droops 


The gem its lustre hides ; 


her head ; 


Such gem I fondly deemed was 


Why on her branches, silent and 


mine, 


unstrung, 


And glowed a diamond stone, 


The minstrel harp is emblematic 


But, since each eye may see it 


hung; 


shine, 


What poet's voice is smothered 


I '11 darkling dwell alone. 


here in dust 




Till waked to join the chorus of 


No waking dreams shall tinge my 


the just, — 


thought 


Lo ! one brief line an answer sad 


With dyes so bright and vain, 


supplies, 



THE POACHER 



553 



Honored, beloved, and mourned, 

here Seward lies ! 
Her worth, her warmth of heart, 

let friendship say, — 
Go seek her genius in her living lay. 



PROLOGUE 

TO MISS BAILLIE'S PLAY OF * THE 
FAMILY LEGEND ' 

'T is sweet to hear expiring Sum- 
mer's sigh, 

Through forests tinged with rus- 
set, wail and die ; 

'T is sweet and sad the latest notes 
to hear 

Of distant music, dying on the ear ; 

But far more sadly sweet on for- 
eign strand 

We list the legends of our native 
land, 

Linked as they come with every 
tender tie, 

Memorials dear of youth and in- 
fancy. 

Chief thy wild tales, romantic 

Caledon, 
Wake keen remembrance in each 

hardy son. 
Whether on India's burning coasts 

he toil 
Or till Acadia's winter-fettered 

soil, 
He hears with throbbing heart and 

moistened eyes, 
And, as he hears, what dear illu- 
sions rise ! 
It opens on his soul his native 

dell, 
The woods wild waving and the 

water's swell ; 
Tradition's theme, the tower that 

threats the plain, 
The mossy cairn that hides the 

hero slain ; 
The cot beneath whose simple 

porch were told 
By gray-haired patriarch the tales 

of old, 



The infant group that hushed their 

sports the while, 
And the dear maid who listened 

with a smile. 
The wanderer, while the vision 

warms his brain, 
Is denizen of Scotland once again. 

Are such keen feelings to the 

crowd confined, 
And sleep they in the poet's gifted 

mind? 
O no! For she, within whose 

mighty page 
Each tyrant Passion shows his 

woe and rage, 
Has felt the wizard influence they 

inspire, 
And to your own traditions tuned 

her lyre. 
Yourselves shall judge — whoe'er 

has raised the sail 
By Mull's dark coast has heard 

this evening's tale. 
The plaided boatman, resting on 

his oar, 
Points to the fatal rock amid the 

roar 
Of whitening waves, and tells 

whate'er to-night 
Our humble stage shall offer to 

your sight ; 
Proudly preferred that first our 

efforts give 
Scenes glowing from her pen to 

breathe and live ; 
More proudly yet, should Caledon 

approve 
The filial token of a daughter's 

love. 



THE POACHER 

WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF 
CRABBE 

Welcome, grave stranger, to our 

green retreats 
Where health with exercise and 

freedom meets ! 



554 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Thrice welcome, sage, whose 
philosophic plan 

By nature's limits metes the rights 
of man ; 

Generous as he who now for free- 
dom bawls, 

Now gives full value for true In- 
dian shawls : 

O'er court, o'er custom-house, his 
shoe who flings, 

Now bilks excisemen and now 
bullies kings. 

Like his, I ween, thy comprehen- 
sive mind 

Holds laws as mouse-traps baited 
for mankind : 10 

Thine eye applausive each sly ver- 
min sees, 

That balks the snare yet battens 
on the cheese ; 

Thine ear has heard with scorn in- 
stead of awe 

Our buckskinned justices expound 
the law, 

Wire-draw the acts that fix for 
wires the pain, 

And for the netted partridge noose 
the swain ; 

And thy vindictive arm would fain 
have broke 

The last light fetter of the feudal 
yoke, 

To give the denizens of wood and 
wild, 

Nature's free race, to each her 
free-born child. 20 

Hence hast thou marked with 
grief fair London's race, 

Mocked with the boon of one poor 
Easter chase, 

And longed to send them forth as 
free as when 

Poured o'er Chantilly the Parisian 
train, 

When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, 
combined, 

And scarce the field-pieces were 
left behind ! 

A squadron's charge each leveret's 
heart dismayed, 



On every covey fired a bold bri- 
gade; 

La Douce Humanite approved the 
sport, 

For great the alarm indeed, yet 
small the hurt ; 30 

Shouts patriotic solemnized the 
day, 

And Seine reechoed Vive la Li- 
berie ! 

But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur 
again, 

With some few added links re- 
sumes his chain. 

Then, since such scenes to France 
no more are known, 

Come, view with me a hero of 
thine own, 

One whose free actions vindicate 
the cause 

Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws. 

Seek we yon glades where the 

proud oak o'ertops 
Wide-waving seas of birch and 

hazel copse, 40 

Leaving between deserted isles of 

land 
Where stunted heath is patched 

with ruddy sand, 
And lonely on the waste the yew 

is seen, 
Or straggling hollies spread a 

brighter green. 
Here, little worn and winding dark 

and steep, 
Our scarce marked path descends 

yon dingle deep : 
Follow — but heedful, cautious of 

a trip — 
In earthly mire philosophy may 

slip. 
Step slow and wary o'er that 

swampy stream, 
Till, guided by the charcoal's 

smothering steam, 50 

We reach the frail yet barricaded 

door 
Of hovel formed for poorest of the 

poor; 



THE POACHER 



555 



No hearth the fire, no vent the 

smoke receives, 
The walls are wattles and the 

covering leaves ; 
For, if such hut, our forest statutes 

say, 
Rise in the progress of one night 

and day — 
Though placed where still the Con- 
queror's hest o'erawe, 
And his son's stirrup shines the 

badge of law — 
The builder claims the unenviable 

boon, 
To tenant dwelling, framed as 

slight and soon 60 

As wigwam wild that shrouds the 

native frore 
On the bleak coast of frost-barred 

Labrador. 



Approach and through the un- 
latticed window peep — 

Nay, shrink not back, the inmate 
is asleep ; 

Sunk mid yon sordid blankets till 
the sun 

Stoop to the west, the plunderer's 
toils are done. 

Loaded and primed and prompt 
for desperate hand, 

Rifle and fowling-piece beside him 
stand ; 

While round the hut are in dis- 
order laid 

The tools and booty of his lawless 
trade ; 70 

For force or fraud, resistance or 
escape, 

The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, 
and the crape. 

His pilfered powder in yon nook 
he hoards, 

And the filched lead the church's 
roof affords — 

Hence shall the rector's congrega- 
tion fret, 

That while his sermon 's dry his 
walls are wet. 



The fish-spear barbed, the sweep- 

ing net are there, 
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, 

and skins of hare, 
Cordage for toils and wiring for 

the snare. 
Bartered for game from chase or 

warren won, 80 

Yon cask holds moonlight, run 

when moon was none ; 
And late-snatched spoils lie stowed 

in hutch apart 
To wait the associate higgler's 

evening cart 

Look on his pallet foul and mark 
his rest : 

What scenes perturbed are acting 
in his breast ! 

His sable brow is wet and wrung 
with pain, 

And his dilated nostril toils in 
vain; 

For short and scant the breath 
each effort draws, 

And 'twixt each effort Nature 
claims a pause. 

Beyond the loose and sable neck- 
cloth stretched, 90 

His sinewy throat seems by con- 
vulsion twitched, 

While the tongue falters, as to 
utterance loath, 

Sounds of dire import — watch- 
word, threat, and oath. 

Though, stupefied by toil and 
drugged with gin, 

The body sleep, the restless guest 
within 

Now plies on wood and wold his 
lawless trade, 

Now in the fangs of justice wakes 
dismayed. — 

* Was that wild start of terror 
and despair, 

Those bursting eyeballs and that 
wildered air, 

Signs of compunction for a mur- 
dered hare ? 100 



SS<5 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Do the locks bristle and the eye- 


The clown who robs the warren 


brows arch 


or excise 


For grouse or partridge massacred 


With sterner felons trained to act 


in March ? > 


more dread, 




Even with the wretch by whom 


No, scoffer, no! Attend, and 


his fellow bled. 


mark with awe, 


Then, as in plagues the foul con- 


There is no wicket in the gate of 


tagions pass, 


law! 


Leavening and festering the cor- 


He that would e'er so lightly set 


rupted mass, 


ajar 


Guilt leagues with guilt while 


That awful portal must undo each 


mutual motives draw, 130 


bar: 


Their hope impunity, their fear 


Tempting occasion, habit, passion, 


the law : 


pride, 


Their foes, their friends, their ren- 


Will join to storm the breach and 


dezvous the same, 


force the barrier wide. 


Till the revenue balked or pilfered 




game 


That ruffian, whom true men 


Flesh the young culprit, and ex- 


avoid and dread, 


ample leads 


Whom bruisers, poachers, smug- 


To darker villany and direr deeds. 


glers, call Black Ned, no 




Was Edward Mansell once ; — the 




lightest heart 


Wild howled the wind the forest 


That ever played on holiday his 


glades along, 


part! 


And oft the owl renewed her dis- 


The leader he in every Christmas 


mal song ; 


game, 


Around the spot where erst he felt 


The harvest - feast grew blither 


the wound, 


when he came, 


Ked William's spectre walked his 


And liveliest on the chords the 


midnight round. 


bow did glance 


When o'er the swamp he cast his 


When Edward named the tune 


blighting look, 140 


and led the dance. 


From the green marshes of the 


Kind was his heart, his passions 


stagnant brook 


quick and strong, 


The bittern's sullen shout the 


Hearty his laugh, and jovial was 


sedges shook ! 


his song; 


The waning moon with storm-pre- 


And if he loved a gun, his father 


saging gleam 


swore, 


Now gave and now withheld her 


1 'T was but a trick of youth would 


doubtful beam ; 


soon be o'er, 120 


The old Oak stooped his arms, 


Himself had done the same some 


then flung them high, 


thirty years before.' 


Bellowing and groaning to the 




troubled sky — 


But he whose humors spurn 


'T was then that, couched amid 


law's awful yoke 


the brushwood sear, 


Must herd with those by whom 


In Malwood-walk young Mansell 


law's bonds are broke ; 


watched the deer : 


The common dread of justice soon 


The fattest buck received his 


allies 


deadly shot — 



ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE 



557 



The watchful keeper heard and 
sought the spot. 150 

Stout were their hearts, and stub- 
born was their strife ; 

O'erpowered at length the Outlaw 
drew his knife. 

Next morn a corpse was found 
upon the fell — 

The rest his waking agony may 
tell! 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 

OR, THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS 

'T was a Marshal of France, and 

he fain would honor gain, 
And he longed to take a passing 
glance at Portugal from 
Spain ; 
With his flying guns this gal- 
lant gay, 
And boasted corps d'armee — 
0, he feared not our dragoons with 
their long swords boldly rid- 
ing, 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

To Campo Mayor come, he had 

quietly sat down, 
Just a fricassee to pick while his 
soldiers sacked the town, 
When, t was peste ! morbleu ! 

mon General, 
Hear the English bugle-call ! 
And behold the light dragoons 
with their long swords boldly 
riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 



Right about went horse and foot, 

artillery and all, 
And, as the devil leaves a house, 
they tumbled through the 
wall; 
They took no time to seek the 

door, 
But, best foot set before — 



O, they ran from our dragoons 
with their long swords boldly 
riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

Those valiant men of France they 

had scarcely fled a mile, 
When on their flank there soused 
at once the British rank and 
file; 
For Long, De Grey, and Otway 

then 
Ne'er minded one to ten, 
But came on like light dragoons 
with^their long.swords boldly 
riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

Three hundred British lads they 

made three thousand reel, 
Their hearts were made of English 
oak, their swords of Sheffield 
steel, 
Their horses were in Yorkshire 

bred, 
And Beresford them led ; 
So huzza for brave dragoons with 
their long swords boldly rid- 
ing, 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

Then here 's a health to Welling- 
ton, to Beresford, to Long, 
And a single word of Bonaparte 
before I close my song : 
The eagles that to fight he 

brings 
Should serve his men with 
wings, 
When they meet the bold dragoons 
with their long swords boldly 
riding, 
Whack, fal de ral, etc. 

ON THE MASSACRE OF 
GLENCOE 

' O, tell me, Harper, wherefore 

flow 
Thy wayward notes of wail and 

woe 



558 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Far down the desert of Glencoe, 
Where none may list their mel- 
ody? 
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that 

fly, 
Or to the dun-deer glancing by, 
Or to the eagle that from high 
Screams chorus to thy min- 
strelsy ? ' 

1 No, not to these, for they have 

rest,— 
The mist-wreath has the mountain- 
crest, 
The stag his lair, the erne her 

nest, 
Abode of lone security. 
But those for whom I pour the 

lay, 
Not wild-wood deep nor mountain 

gray, 
Not this deep dell that shrouds 

from day, 
Could screen from treacherous 

cruelty. 

* Their flag was furled and mute 

their drum, 
The very household dogs were 

dumb, 
Unwont to bay at guests that come 

In guise of hospitality. 
His blithest notes the piper plied, 
Her gayest snood the maiden 

tied, 
The dame her distaff flung aside 
To tend her kindly housewifery. 

' The hand that mingled in the meal 
At midnight drew the felon steel, 
And gave the host's kind breast to 
feel 
Meed for his hospitality ! 
The friendly hearth which warmed 

that hand 
At midnight armed it with the 

brand 
That bade destruction's flames ex- 
pand 
Their red and fearful blazonry. 



4 Then woman's shriek was heard 

in vain. 
Nor infancy's unpitied plain, 
More than the warrior's groan, 

could gain 
Respite from ruthless butchery ! 
The winter wind that whistled 

shrill, 
The snows that night that cloked 

the hill, 
Though wild and pitiless, had 

still 
Far more than Southern clem- 

ency. 

' Long have my harp's best notes 

been gone, 
Few are its strings and faint their 

tone, 
They can but sound in desert lone 
Their gray - haired master's 

misery. 
Were each gray hair a minstrel 

string, 
Each chord should imprecations 

fling, 
Till startled Scotland loud should 

ring, 
" Revenge for blood and treach- 
ery ! " ■ 



SONG 

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEET- 
ING OF THE PITT CLUB OF 
SCOTLAND 

0, dread was the time, and more 
dreadful the omen, 
When the brave on Marengo lay 
slaughtered in vain, 
And beholding broad Europe 
bowed down by her foemen, 
Pitt closed in his anguish the 
map of her reign ! 
Not the fate of broad Europe could 
bend his brave spirit 
To take for his country the safety 
of shame ; 



LINES 



559 



O, then in her triumph remember 
his merit, 
And hallow the goblet that flows 
to his name. 

Round the husbandman's head 
while he traces the furrow 
The mists of the winter may 
mingle with rain, 
He may plough it with labor and 
sow it in sorrow, 
And sigh while he fears he has 
sowed it in vain ; 
He may die ere his children shall 
reap in their gladness, 
But the blithe harvest -home 
shall remember his claim ; 
And their jubilee-shout shall be 
softened with sadness, 
While they hallow the goblet 
that flows to his name. 

Though anxious and timeless his 
life was expended, 
In toils for our country pre- 
served by his care, 
Though he died ere one ray o'er 
the nations ascended, 
To light the long darkness of 
doubt and despair ; 
The storms he endured in our Bri- 
tain's December, 
The perils his wisdom foresaw 
and o'ercame, 
In her glory's rich harvest shall 
Britain remember, 
And hallow the goblet that flows 
to his name. 

Nor forget His gray head who, all 
dark in affliction, 
Is deaf to the tale of our victo- 
ries won, 
And to sounds the most dear to 
paternal affection, 
The shout of his people ap- 
plauding his Son ; 
By his firmness unmoved in suc- 
cess and disaster, 
By his long reign of virtue, re- 
member his claim ! 



With our tribute to Pitt join the 
praise of his Master, 
Though a tear stain the goblet 
that flows to his name. 

Yet again fill the wine-cup and 
change the sad measure, 
The rites of our grief and our 
gratitude paid, 
To our Prince, to our Heroes, de- 
vote the bright treasure, 
The wisdom that planned, and 
the zeal that obeyed ! 
Fill Wellington's cup till it 
beam like his glory, 
Forget not our own brave Dal- 
housie and Graeme ; 
A thousand years hence hearts 
shall bound at their story, 
And hallow the goblet that flows 
to their fame. 



LINES 

ADDRESSED TO RANALD MAC- 
DONALD, ESQ., OF STAFFA 

Staffa, sprung from high Mac- 
donald 

Worthy branch of old Clan-Ran- 
ald! 

Staffa ! king of all kind fellows ! 

Well befall thy hills and val- 
leys, 

Lakes and inlets, deeps and shal- 
lows — 

Cliffs of darkness, caves of won- 
der, 

Echoing the Atlantic thunder ; 

Mountains which the gray mist 
covers, 

Where the Chieftain spirit hov- 
ers, 
Pausing while his pinions 

quiver, 
Stretched to quit our land for- 
ever! 
Each kind influence reign above 
thee! 



560 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Warmer heart 'twixt this and 

Staffa 
Beats not than in heart of 

Staffa ! 



PHAROS LOQUITUR 

Far in the bosom of the deep, 
O'er these wild shelves my ,watch 

I keep ; 
A ruddy gem of changeful light, 
Bound on the dusky brow of night, 
The seaman bids my lustre hail, 
And scorns to strike his timorous 

sail. 



LETTERS IN VERSE 

ON THE VOYAGE WITH THE COM- 
MISSIONERS OF NORTHERN 
LIGHTS 

To His Grace theDuke ofBuccleuch 

Lighthouse Yacht in the sound of 
Leewick, Zetland, 8th August, 1814. 

Health to the chieftain from 
his clansman true ! 

From her true minstrel, health to 
fair Buccleuch ! 

Health from the isles where dewy 
Morning weaves 

Her chaplet with the tints that 
Twilight leaves ; 

Where late the sun scarce van- 
ished from the sight, 

And his bright pathway graced 
the short-lived night, 

Though darker now as autumn's 
shades extend 

The north winds whistle and the 
mists ascend ! 

Health from the land where eddy- 
ing whirlwinds toss 

The storm-rocked cradle of the 
Cape of Noss ; 10 

On outstretched cords the giddy 
engine slides, 



His own strong arm the bold ad- 
venturer guides, 

And he that lists such desperate 
feat to try 

May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt 
surf and sky, 

And feel the mid-air gales around 
him blow, 

And see the billows rage five hun- 
dred feet below. 



Here, by each stormy peak and 
desert shore, 

The hardy islesman tugs the dar- 
ing oar, 

Practised alike his venturous 
course to keep 

Through the white breakers or the 
pathless deep, 20 

By ceaseless peril and by toil to 
gain 

A wretched pittance from the nig- 
gard main. 

And when the worn-out drudge old 
ocean leaves, 

What comfort greets him and what 
hut receives ? 

Lady ! the worst your presence ere 
has cheered — 

When want and sorrow fled as 
you appeared — 

Were to a Zetlander as the high 
dome 

Of proud Drumlanrig to my hum- 
ble home. 

Here rise no groves and here no 
gardens blow, 

Here even the hardy heath scarce 
dares to grow ; 30 

But rocks on rocks, in mist and 
storm arrayed, 

Stretch far to sea their giant co- 
lonnade, 

With many a cavern seamed, the 
dreary haunt 

Of the dun seal and swarthy cor- 
morant. 

Wild round their rifted brows, 
with frequent cry 



LETTERS IN VERSE 



56l 



As of lament, the gulls and gan- 

nets fly, 
And from their sable base with 

sullen sound 
In sheets of whitening foam the 

waves rebound. 

Yet even these coasts a touch of 
envy gain 

From those whose land has known 
oppression's chain; 40 

For here the industrious Dutch- 
man comes once more 

To moor his fishing craft by Bres- 
say's shore, 

Greets every former mate and 
brother tar, 

Marvels how Lerwick 'scaped the 
rage of war, 

Tells many a tale of Gallic out- 
rage done, 

And ends by blessing God and 
Wellington. 

Here too the Greenland tar, a 
fiercer guest, 

Claims a brief hour of riot, not of 
rest ; 

Proves each wild frolic that in wine 
has birth, 

And wakes the land with brawls 
and boisterous mirth. 50 

A sadder sight on yon poor ves- 
sel's prow 

The captive Norseman sits in si- 
lent woe, 

And eyes the flags of Britain as 
they flow. 

Hard fate of war, which bade her 
terrors sway 

His destined course and seize so 
mean a prey, 

A bark with planks so warped and 
seams so riven 

She scarce might face the gentlest 
airs of heaven : 

Pensive he sits, and questions oft 
if none 

Can list his speech and under- 
stand his moan ; 

In vain — no Islesman now can 
use the tongue 60 



Of the bold Norse from whom their 
lineage sprung. 

Not thus of old the Norsemen 
hither came, 

Won by the love of danger or of 
fame j 

On every storm-beat cape a shape- 
less tower 

Tells of their wars, their con- 
quests, and their power ; 

For ne'er for Grecia's vales nor 
Latian land 

Was fiercer strife than for this 
barren strand ; 

A race severe, the isle and ocean 
lords 

Loved for its own delight the strife 
of swords ; 

With scornful laugh the mortal 
pang defied, 70 

And blest their gods that they in 
battle died. 

Such were the sires of Zetland's 
simple race, 

And still the eye may faint resem- 
blance trace 

In the blue eye, tall form, propor- 
tion fair, 

The limbs athletic, and the long 
light hair — 

Such was the mien, as Scald and 
Minstrel sings, 

Of fair-haired Harold, first of Nor- 
way's Kings; — 

But their high deeds to scale these 
crags confined, 

Their only welfare is with waves 
and wind. 

Why should I talk of Mousa's 
castle coast ? 80 

Why of the horrors of the Sun- 
burgh Post? 

May not these bald disjointed lines 
suffice, 

Penned while my comrades whirl 
the rattling dice — 

While down the cabin skylight 
lessening shine 



562 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



The rays, and eve is chased with 

mirth and wine ? 
Imagined, while down Mousa's 

desert bay 
Our well-trimmed vessel urged her 

nimble way, 
While to the freshening breeze she 

leaned her side, 
And bade her bowsprit kiss the 

foamy tide ? 

Such are the lays that Zetland 

Isles supply ; 90 

Drenched with the drizzly spray 

and dropping sky, 
Weary and wet, a sea-sick min- 
strel I. 

W. Scott. 



POSTSCRIPTUM 

Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814. 

In respect that your Grace has 
commissioned a Kraken, 

You will please be informed that 
they seldom are taken ; 

It is January two years, the Zet- 
land folks say, 

Since they saw the last Kraken in 
Scalloway bay ; 

He lay in the offing a fortnight or 
more, 

But the devil a Zetlander put from 
the shore, 

Though bold in the seas of the 
North to assail 

The morse and the sea-horse, the 
grampus and whale. 100 

If your Grace thinks I 'm writing 
the thing that is not, 

You may ask at a namesake of 
ours, Mr. Scott — 

He 's not from our clan, though his 
merits deserve it, 

But springs, I 'm informed, from 
the Scotts of Scotstarvet ; — 

He questioned the folks who be- 
held it with eyes, 



But they differed confoundedly as 

to its size. 
For instance, the modest and diffi- 
dent swore 
That it seemed like the keel of a 

ship and no more — 
Those of eyesight more clear or of 

fancy more high 
Said it rose like an island 'twixt 

ocean and sky — no 

But all of the hulk had a steady 

opinion 
That 't was sure a live subject of 

Neptune's dominion — 
And I think, my Lord Duke, your 

Grace hardly would wish, 
To cumber your house, such a ket- 
tle of fish. 
Had your order related to night- 
caps or hose 
Or mittens of worsted, there 's 

plenty of those. 
Or would you be pleased but to 

fancy a whale ? 
And direct me to send it — by sea 

or by mail ? 
The season, I 'mtold, is nigh over, 

but still 
I could get you one fit for the lake 

at Bowhill. 120 

Indeed, as to whales, there 's no 

need to be thrifty, 
Since one day last fortnight two 

hundred and fifty, 
Pursued by seven Orkneymen's 

boats and no more, 
Betwixt Truffness and Luffness 

were drawn on the shore ! 
You '11 ask if I saw this same 

wonderful sight ; 
I own that I did not, but easily 

might — 
For this mighty shoal of levia- 
thans Jay 
On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop 

of the bay, 
And the islesmen of Sanda were 

all at the spoil, 
And flinching— so term it — the 

blubber to boil;— 130 



SONGS AND VERSES FROM WAVERLEY 563 



Ye spirits of lavender, drown the 


The quintain was set, and the gar- 


reflection 


lands were made, 


That awakes at the thoughts of 


'Tis pity old customs should 


this odorous dissection. — 


ever decay ; 


To see this huge marvel full fain 


And woe be to him that was horsed 


would we go, 


on a jade, 


But Wilson, the wind, and the 


For he carried no credit away, 


current said no e 


away. 


We have now got to Kirkwall, and 




needs I must stare 


We met a concert of fiddle-de- 


When I think that in verse I have 


dees ; 


once called it fair : 


We set them a-cockhorse, and 


'Tis a base little borough, both 


made them play 


dirty and mean — 


The winning of Bullen, and Upsey- 


There is nothing to hear and 


frees, 


there 's naught to be seen, 


And away to Tewin, away, away.! 


Save a church where of old times 




a prelate harangued, 


There was ne'er a lad in all the 


And a palace that 's built by an 


parish 


earl that was hanged. 140 


That would go to the plough 


But farewell to Kirkwall — aboard 


that day ; 


we are going, 


But on his fore-horse his wench he 


The anchor's a-peak and the 


carries, 


breezes are blowing; 


And away to Tewin, away, away! 


Our commodore calls all his band 




to their places, 


The butler was quick, and the ale 


And 't is time to release you — 


he did tap, 


good-night to your Graces ! 


The maidens did make the cham- 




ber full gay ; 




The servants did give me a fud- 




dling cup, 


SONGS AND VERSES FROM 


And I did carry 't away, away. 


WAVERLEY 






The smith of the town his liquor 


1 


so took, 




That he was persuaded that the 


'AND DID YE NOT HEAR OF A 


ground looked blue ; 


MIBTH BEFELL ' 


And I dare boldly be sworn on a 




book, 


To the tune of ■ / have been a Fiddler,' 


Such smiths as he there 's but a 


etc. 


few. 


And did ye not hear of a mirth 


A posset was made, and the 


befell 


women did sip, 


The morrow after a wedding 


And simpering said, they could 


day, 


eat no more ; 


And carrying a bride at home to 


Full many a maiden was laid on 


dwell ? 


the lip, — 


And away to Tewin, away, 


I '11 say no more, but give o'er, 


away! 


give o'er. 



564 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



11 



* LATE, WHEN THE AUTUMN 
EVENING FELL » 

From chapter v. 

Late, when the autumn evening 

fell 
On Mirkwood - Mere's romantic 

dell, 
The lake returned, in chastened 

gleam, 
The purple cloud , the golden beam : 
Reflected in the crystal pool, 
Headland and bank lay fair and 

cool; 
The weather-tinted rock and tower, 
Each drooping tree, each fairy 

flower, 
So true, so soft, the mirror gave, 
As if there lay beneath the wave, 
Secure from trouble, toil, and care, 
A world than earthly world more 

fair. 

But distant winds began to wake, 
And roused the Genius of the 

Lake ! 
He heard the groaning of the oak, 
And donned at once his sable 

cloak, 
As warrior, at the battle cry, 
Invests him with his panoply : 
Then, as the whirlwind nearer 

pressed, 
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest 
O'er furrowed brow and black- 
ened cheek, 
And bade his surge in thunder 

speak. 
In wild and broken eddies whirled, 
Flitted that fond ideal world ; 
And, to the shore in tumult tost, 
The realms of fairy bliss were lost. 

Yet, with a stern delight and 

strange, 
I saw the spirit-stirring change 
As warred the wind with wave and 

wood. 



Upon the ruined tower I stood, 
And felt my heart more strongly 

bound, 
Responsive to the lofty sound, 
While, joying in the mighty roar, 
I mourned that tranquil scene no 

more. 

So, on the idle dreams of youth 
Breaks the loud trumpet-call of 

truth, 
Bids each fair vision pass away, 
Like landscape on the lake that 

lay, 
As fair, as flitting, and as frail, 
As that which fled the autumn 

gale — 
Forever dead to fancy's eye 
Be each gay form that glided by, 
While dreams of love and lady's 

charms 
Give place to honor and to arms ! 



in 

4 THE knight 's to the moun- 
tain' 

From chapter ix. 

The Knight 's to the mountain 

His bugle to wind ; 
The lady 's to greenwood 

Her garland to bind. 
The bower of Burd Ellen 

Has moss on the floor, 
That the step of Lord William 

Be silent and sure. 



rv 

'it >s up glembabchan's 
braes i gaed ' 

From chapter xi. 

It's up Glembarchan's braes I 

gaed, 
And o'er the bent of Killiebraid, 






SONGS AND VERSES FROM WAVERLEY 565 



And mony a weary cast I made 
To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail. 

If up a bonny black-cock should 

spring, 
To whistle him down wi' a slug in 

his wing, 
And strap him on to my lunzie 

string, 
Right seldom would I fail. 



1 HIE AWAY, HIE AWAY ' 

From chapter xii. 

Hie away, hie away, 

Over bank and over brae, 

Where the copsewood is the green- 
est, 

Where the fountains glisten sheen- 
est, 

Where the lady-fern grows strong- 
est, 

Where the morning dew lies long- 
est, 

Where the black-cock sweetest 
sips it, 

Where the fairy latest trips it : 

Hie to haunts right seldom seen, 

Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green, 

Over bank and over brae, 

Hie away, hie away. 



VI 

ST. SWITHIN'S CHAIR 

From chapter xiii. 

On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you 

boune ye to rest, 
Ever beware that your couch be 

blessed ; 
Sign it with cross, and sain it with 

bead, 
Sing the Ave and say the Creed. 



For on Hallow - Mass Eve the 

Night-Hag will ride, 
And all her nine-fold sweeping on 

by her side, 
Whether the wind sing lowly or 

loud, 
Sailing through moonshine or 

swathed in the cloud. 

The Lady she sate in St. Swithin's 

Chair, 
The dew of the night has damped 

her hair : 
Her cheek was pale, but resolved 

and high 
Was the word of her lip and the 

glance of her eye. 

She muttered the spell of Swithin 

bold, 
When his naked foot traced the 

midnight wold, 
When he stopped the Hag as she 

rode the night, 
And bade her descend and her 

promise plight. 

He that dare sit on St. Swithin's 

Chair 
When the Night-Hag wings the 

troubled air, 
Questions three, when he speaks 

the spell, 
He may ask, and she must tell. 

The Baron has been with King 

Robert his liege, 
These three long years in battle 

and siege ; 
News are there none of his weal 

or his woe, 
And fain the Lady his fate would 

know. 

She shudders and stops as the 
charm she speaks ; — 

Is it the moody owl that shrieks? 

Or is that sound, betwixt laughter 
and scream, 

The voice of the Demon who 
haunts the stream ? 



566 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



The moan of the wind sunk silent 

and low, 
And the roaring torrent had ceased 

to flow ; 
The calm was more dreadful than 

raging storm, 
When the cold gray mist brought 

the ghastly form ! 



VII 

* YOUNG MEN WILL LOVE THEE 
MORE FAIR AND MORE FAST ' 

From chapter xiv. 

Young men will love thee more 
fair and more fast ! 
Heard ye so merry the little bird 
sing ? 
Old men's love the longest will last, 
And the throstle-cock's head is 
under his wing. 

The young man's wrath is like 
light straw on fire ; 
Heard ye so merry the little bird 
sing ? 
But like red-hot steel is the old 
man's ire, 
And the throstle-cock's head is 
under his wing. 

The young man will brawl at the 
evening board ; 
Heard ye so merry the little bird 
sing? 
But the old man will draw at the 
dawning the sword, 
And the throstle-cock 's head is 
under his wing. 



VIII 
FLORA MACIVOR'S SONG 

From chapter xxii. 

There is mist on the mountain, 
and night on the vale, 



But more dark is the sleep of the 

sons of the Gael. 
A stranger commanded — it sunk 

on the land, 
It has frozen each heart and be- 

numbed every hand ! 

The dirk and the target lie sordid 
with dust, 

The bloodless claymore is but red- 
dened with rust ; 

On the hill or the glen if a gun 
should appear, 

It is only to war with the heath- 
cock or deer. 

The deeds of our sires if our bards 

should rehearse, 
Let a blush or a blow be the meed 

of their verse ! 
Be mute every string and be 

hushed every tone 
That shall bid us remember the 

fame that is flown ! 

But the dark hours of night and 

of slumber are past, 
The morn on our mountains is 

dawning at last ; 
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed 

with the rays, 
And the streams of Glenfinnan 

leap bright in the blaze. 

high-minded Moray! — the ex- 
iled—the dear ! — 

In the blush of the dawning the 
Standard uprear ! 

Wide, wide to the winds of the 
north let it fly, 

Like the sun's latest flash when 
the tempest is nigh ! 

Ye sons of the strong, when that 

dawning shall break, 
Need the harp of the aged remind 

you to wake ? 
That dawn never beamed on your 

forefathers' eye, 
But it roused each high chieftain 

to vanquish or die. 



SONGS AND VERSES FROM WAVERLEY 567 



0, sprung from the Kings who in 

Islay kept state, 
Proud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glen- 

gary, and Sleat ! 
Combine like three streams from 

one mountain of snow, 
And resistless in union rush down 

on the foe ! 

True son of Sir Evan, undaunted 

Lochiel, 
Place thy targe on thy shoulder 

and burnish thy steel ! 
Rough Keppoch, give breath to 

thy bugle's bold swell, 
Till far Coryarrick resound to the 

knell ! 

Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high 

chief of Kintail, 
Let the stag in thy standard bound 

wild in the gale ! 
May the race of Clan-Gillian, the 

fearless and free, 
Remember Glenlivet, Harlaw, and 

Dundee ! 

Let the clan of gray Fingon, whose 

offspring has given 
Such heroes to earth and such 

martyrs to heaven, 
Unite with the race of renowned 

Rom More, 
To launch the long galley and 

stretch to the oar ! 

How Mac-Shimei will joy when 

their chief shall display 
The yew - crested bonnet o'er 

tresses of gray ! 
How the race of wronged Alpine 

and murdered Glencoe 
Shall shout for revenge when they 

pour on the foe ! 

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who 

slew the wild boar, 
Resume the pure faith of the great 

Callum-More ! 



Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy 
of the Lake, 

For honor, for freedom, for ven- 
geance awake ! 

Awake on your hills, on your is- 
lands awake, 

Brave sons of the mountain, the 
frith, and the lake ! 

'Tis the bugle — but not for the 
chase is the call ; 

'T is the pibroch's shrill summons 
— but not to the hall. 

'Tis the summons of heroes for 

conquest or death, 
When the banners are blazing on 

mountain and heath ; 
They call to the dirk, the claymore, 

and the targe, 
To the march and the muster, the 

line and the charge. 

Be the brand of each chieftain like 

Fin's in his ire ! 
May the blood through his veins 

flow like currents of fire ! 
Burst the base foreign yoke as 

your sires did of yore ! 
Or die like your sires, and endure 

it no more ! 



IX 



TO AN OAK TREE 



op 



IN THE CHURCHYARD 

HIGHLANDS OP SCOTLAND, 



-, IN THE 
SAID TO 



MARK THE GRAVE OP CAPTAIN WOGAN, 
KILLED IN 1649 

From chapter xxix. 

Emblem of England's ancient 
faith, 
Full proudly may thy branches 
wave, 
Where loyalty lies low in death, 
And valor fills a timeless grave. 



568 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



And thou, brave tenant of the 
tomb! 

Repine not if our clime deny, 
Above thine honored sod to bloom, 

The flowerets of a milder sky. 

These owe their birth to genial 
May; 
Beneath a fiercer sun they pine, 
Before the winter storm decay — 
And can their worth be type of 
thine ? 

No ! for 'mid storms of Fate op- 
posing, 
Still higher swelled thy daunt- 
less heart, 
And, while Despair the scene was 
closing, 
Commenced thy brief but bril- 
liant part. 

'T was then thou sought'st on 
Albyn's hill, 
(When England's sons the strife 
resigned,) 
A rugged race resisting still, 
And unsubdued, though unre- 
fined. 

Thy death's hour heard no kin- 
dred wail, 
No holy knell thy requiem rung ; 
Thy mourners were the plaided 
Gael, 
Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch 
sung. 

Yet who, in Fortune's summer- 
shine 
To waste life's longest term 
away, 
Would change that glorious dawn 
of thine 
Though darkened ere its noon- 
tide day ? 

Be thine the Tree whose dauntless 
boughs 
Brave summer's drought and 
winter's gloom ! 



Rome bound with oak her patriot's 
brows, 
As Albyn shadows Wogan's 
tomb. 



* WE ARE BOUND TO DRIVE THE 
BULLOCKS ' 

From chapter xxxviii. 

We are bound to drive the bul- 
locks, 
All by hollows, hirsts, and hillocks, 
Through the sleet and through 
the rain. 
When the moon is beaming low 
On frozen lake and hills of snow, 
Bold and heartily we go, 
And all for little gain. 



XI 

* BUT FOLLOW, FOLLOW ME » 

From chapter lxiii. 

But follow, follow me, 
While glow-worms light the lea, 
I '11 show ye where the dead should 
be — 
Each in his shroud, 
While winds pipe loud, 
And the red moon peeps dim 

through the cloud. 
Follow, follow me : 
Brave should he be 
That treads by the night the dead 
man's lea. 



FOR A' THAT AN' A' THAT 

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE 

Though right be aft put down by 
strength, 

As mony a day we saw that, 
The true and leilfu' cause at length 

Shall bear the grie for a' that ! 



FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE 



569 



For a' that an' a' that, 

Guns, guillotines, and a' that, 
The Fleur-de-lis, that lost her 
right, 

Is queen again for a' that ! 

We '11 twine her in a friendly knot 

With England's Rose, and a' 
that; 
The Shamrock shall not be forgot, 

For Wellington made bra' that. 
The Thistle, though her leaf be 
rude, 

Yet faith we '11 no misca' that, 
She sheltered in her solitude 

The Fleur-de-lis, for a' that. 

The Austrian Vine, the Prussian 
Pine, 
(For Blucher's sake, hurra 
that,) 
The Spanish Olive, too, shall join, 
And bloom in peace for a' that. 
Stout Russia's Hemp, so surely 
twined 
Around our wreath we '11 draw 
that, 
And he that would the cord unbind, 
Shall have it for his gra-vat ! 

Or, if to choke sae puir a sot, 

Your pity scorn to thraw that, 
The Devil's elbo' be his lot, 

Where he may sit and claw that. 
In spite of slight, in spite of might, 

In spite of brags and a' that, 
The lads that battled for the right, 

Have won the day and a' that ! 

There 's ae bit spot I had forgot, 

America they ca' that ! 
A coward plot her rats had got 

Their father's flag to gnaw that: 
Now see it fly top-gallant high, 

Atlantic winds shall blaw that, 
And Yankee loon, beware your 
croun, 
There 's kames in hand to claw 
that! 
For on the land, or on the sea, 
. Where'er the breezes blaw that, 



The British Flag shall bear the grie. 
And win the day for a' that ! 

FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE 

HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL 
PROM THE GAELIC 

Farewell, to Mackenneth, great 

Earl of the North, 
The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, 

and Seaforth ; 
To the Chieftain this morning his 

course who began, 
Launching forth on the billows his 

bark like a swan. 
For a far foreign land he has 

hoisted his sail, 
Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief 

of Kintail ! 

O, swift be the galley and hardy 

her crew, 
May her captain be skilful, her 

mariners true, 
In danger undaunted, unwearied 

by toil, 
Though the whirlwind should rise 

and the ocean should boil : 
On the brave vessel's gunnel I 

drank his bonail, 
And farewell to Mackenzie, High 

Chief of Kintail ! 

Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet 
southland gale ! 

Like the sighs of his people, breathe 
soft on his sail ; 

Be prolonged as regret that his 
vassals must know, 

Be fair as their faith and sincere 
as their woe : 

Be so soft and so fair and so faith- 
ful, sweet gale, 

Wafting onward Mackenzie, High 
Chief of Kintail! 

Be his pilot experienced and trusty 

and wise, 
To measure the seas and to study 

the skies : 



570 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



May he hoist all his canvas from 
streamer to deck, 

But O ! crowd it higher when waft- 
ing him back — 

Till the cliffs of Skooroora and 
Conan's glad vale 

Shall welcome Mackenzie, High 
Chief of Kintail ! 

IMITATION 

OF THE PRECEDING SONG 

So sung the old bard in the grief 

of his heart 
When he saw his loved lord from 

his people depart. 
Now mute on thy mountains, O 

Albyn, are heard 
Nor the voice of the song nor the 

harp of the bard ; 
Or its strings are but waked by the 

stern winter gale, 
As they mourn for Mackenzie, last 

Chief of Kintail. 

From the far Southland Border a 

minstrel came forth, 
And he waited the hour that some 

bard of the north 
His hand on the harp of the ancient 

should cast, 
And bid its wild numbers mix high 

with the blast 
But no bard was there left in the 

land of the Gael 
To lament for Mackenzie, last 

Chief of Kintail. 

4 And shalt thou then sleep,' did 
the minstrel exclaim, 

'Like the son of the lowly, un- 
noticed by fame ? 

No, son of Fitzgerald! in accents 
of woe 

The song thou hast loved o'er thy 
coffin shall flow, 

And teach thy wild mountains to 
join in the wail 

That laments for Mackenzie, last 
Chief of Kintail. 



' In vain, the bright course of thy 
talents to wrong, 

Fate deadened thine ear and im- 
prisoned thy tongue ; 

For brighter o'er all her obstruc- 
tions arose 

The glow of the genius they could 
not oppose ; 

And who in the land of the Saxon 
or Gael 

Might match with Mackenzie, 
High Chief of Kintail? 

1 Thy sons rose around thee in 
light and in love, 

All a father could hope, all a friend 
could approve ; 

What 'vails it the tale of thy sor- 
rows to tell, — 

In the spring-time of youth and of 
promise they fell ! 

Of the line of Fitzgerald remains 
not a male 

To bear the proud name of the 
Chief of Kintail. 

' And thou, gentle dame, who must 
bear to thy grief 

For thy clan and thy country the 
cares of a chief, 

Whom brief rolling moons in six 
changes have left, 

Of thy husband and father and bre- 
thren bereft, 

To thine ear of affection how sad 
is the hail 

That salutes thee the heir of the 
line of Kintail ! ' 



WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN 

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN 
FROM THE GAELIC 

A weary month has wandered 

o'er 
Since last we parted on the shore ; 
Heaven! that I saw thee, love, 

once more, 



THE DANCE OF DEATH 



$7* 



Safe on that shore again ! — 
>T was valiant Lachlan gave the 

word: 
Lachlan, of many a galley lord : 
He called his kindred hands on 
hoard, 
And launched them on the 
main. 

Clan-Gillian is to ocean gone , 
Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known ; 
Rejoicing in the glory won 

In many a bloody broil : 
For wide is heard the thundering 

fray, 
The rout, the ruin, the dismay, 
When from the twilight glens away 

Clan-Gillian drives the spoil. 

Woe to the hills that shall rebound 

Our bannered bag-pipes' madden- 
ing sound ! 

Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round, 
Shall shake their inmost cell. 

Woe to the bark whose crew shall 
gaze 

Where Lachlan' s silken streamer 
plays ! 

The fools might face the lightning's 
blaze 
As wisely and as well ! 



SAINT CLOUD 

Soft spread the southern summer 
night 
Her veil of darksome blue ; 
Ten thousand stars combined to 
light 
The terrace of Saint Cloud. 

The evening breezes gently sighed, 
Like breath of lover true, 

Bewailing the deserted pride 
And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. 

The drum's deep roll was heard 
afar, 
The bugle wildly blew 



Good-night to Hulan and Hussar 
That garrison Saint Cloud. 

The startled Naiads from the 
shade 
With broken urns withdrew, 
And silenced was that proud cas- 
cade, 
The glory of Saint Cloud. 

We sate upon its steps of stone, 
Nor could its silence rue, 

When waked to music of our own 
The echoes of Saint Cloud. 

Slow Seine might hear each lovely 
note 
Fall light as summer dew, 
While through the moonless air 
they float, 
Prolonged from fair Saint Cloud. 

And sure a melody more sweet 

His waters never knew, 
Though music's self was wont to 
meet 

With princes at Saint Cloud. 

Nor then with more delighted ear 
The circle round her drew 

Than ours, when gathered round 
to hear 
Our songstress at Saint Cloud. 

Few happy hours poor mortals 
pass, — 
Then give those hours their due, 
And rank among the foremost 
class 
Our evenings at Saint Cloud. 



THE DANCE OF DEATH 

Night and morning were at meet- 
ing 
Over Waterloo ; 
Cocks had sung their earliest greet- 
ing; 
Faint and low they crew, 
For no paly beam yet shone 



572 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



On the heights of Mount Saint 

John; 
Tempest - clouds prolonged the 

sway 
Of timeless darkness over day ; 
Whirlwind, thunder - clap, and 

shower 
Marked it a predestined hour. 10 
Broad and frequent through the 

night 
Flashed the sheets of levin-light ; 
Muskets, glancing lightnings back, 
Showed the dreary bivouac 

Where the soldier lay, 
Chill and stiff and drenched with 

rain, 
Wishing dawn of morn again, 
Though death should come with 

day. 

'T is at such a tide and hour 
Wizard, witch, and fiend have 

power, 20 

And ghastly forms through mist 

and shower 
Gleam on the gifted ken ; 
And then the affrighted prophet's 

ear 
Drinks whispers strange of fate 

and fear, 
Presaging death and ruin near 

Among the sons of men ; — 
Apart from Albyn's war-array, 
'T was then gray Allan sleepless 

lay; 
Gray Allan, who for many a day 

Had followed stout and stern, 30 
Where, through battle's rout and 

reel, 
Storm of shot and edge of steel, 
Led the grandson of Lochiel, 

Valiant Fassiefern. 
Through steel and shot he leads 

no more, 
Low laid mid friends' and foe- 
men's gore — 
But long his native lake's wild 

shore, 
And Sunart rough, and high Ard- 

gower, 
And Morven long shall tell, 



And proud Bennevis hear with 
awe, 40 

How upon bloody Quatre-Bras 
Brave Cameron heard the wild 
hurra 
Of conquest as he fell. 

Lone on the outskirts of the host, 
The weary sentinel held post, 
And heard through darkness far 

aloof 
The frequent clang of courser's 

hoof, 
Where held the cloaked patrol 

their course 
And spurred 'gainst storm the 

swerving horse ; 
But there are sounds in Allan's 

ear 50 

Patrol nor sentinel may hear, 
And sights before his eye aghast 
Invisible to them have passed, 

When down the destined plain, 
'Twixt Britain and the bands of 

France, 
Wild as marsh -borne meteor's 

glance, 
Strange phantoms wheeled a revel 

dance 
And doomed the future slain. 
Such forms were seen, such sounds 

were heard, 
When Scotland's James his march 

prepared 60 

For Flodden's fatal plain; 
Such, when he drew his ruthless 

sword, 
As Choosers of the slain, adored 

The yet unchristened Dane. 
An indistinct and phantom band, 
They wheeled their ring -dance 

hand in hand 
With gestures wild and dread ; 
The Seer, who watched them ride 

the storm, 
Saw through their faint and 

shadowy form 69 

The lightning's flash more red ; 
And still their ghastly roundelay 
Was of the coming battle-fray 
And of the destined dead. 



THE DANCE OF DEATH 



573 



SONG 


Sons of the spear ! 




You feel us near 


Wheel the wild dance 


In many a ghastly dream ; 


While lightnings glance 


With fancy's eye 


And thunders rattle loud, 


Our forms you spy, 120 


And call the brave 


And hear our fatal scream. 


To bloody grave, 


With clearer sight 


To sleep without a shroud. 


Ere falls the night, 




Just when to weal or woe 


Our airy feet, 80 


Your disembodied souls take 


So light and fleet, 


flight 


They do not bend the rye 


On trembling wing— each star- 


That sinks its head when whirl- 


tled sprite 


winds rave, 


Our choir of death shall know. 


And swells again in eddying 




wave 


Wheel the wild dance 


As each wild gust blows by; 


While lightnings glance 


But still the corn 


And thunders rattle loud, 130 


At dawn of morn 


And call the brave 


Our fatal steps that bore, 


To bloody grave, 


At eve lies waste, 


To sleep without a shroud. 


A trampled paste 90 




Of blackening mud and gore. 


Burst, ye clouds, in tempest 




showers, 


Wheel the wild dance 


Redder rain shall soon be ours — 


While lightnings glance 


See the east grows wan — 


And thunders rattle loud, 


Yield we place to sterner game, 


And call the brave 


Ere deadlier bolts and direr 


To bloody grave, 


flame 


To sleep without a shroud. 


Shall the welkin's thunders 




shame ; 


Wheel the wild dance ! 


Elemental rage is tame 140 


Brave sons of France, 99 


To the wrath of man. 


For you our ring makes room ; 




Make space full wide 


At morn, gray Allan's mates with 


For martial pride, 


awe 


For banner, spear, and plume. 


Heard of the visioned sights he 


Approach, draw near, 


saw, 


Proud cuirassier S 


The legend heard him say ; 


Room for the men of steel ! 


But the Seer's gifted eye was 


Through crest and plate 


dim, 


The broadsword's weight 


Deafened his ear and stark his 


Both head and heart shall feel. 


limb, 




Ere closed that bloody day — 


Wheel the wild dance no 


He sleeps far from his Highland 


While lightnings glance 


heath, — 


And thunders rattle loud, 


But often of the Dance of Death 


And call the brave 


His comrades tell the tale, 150 


To bloody grave, 


On picquet-post when ebbs the 


To sleep without a shroud. 


night, 



574 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



And waning watch-fires glow less 
bright, 
And dawn is glimmering pale. 



ROMANCE OF DUNOIS 

FROM THE FRENCH 

It was Dunois, the young and 
brave, was bound for Pales- 
tine, 

But first he made his orisons be- 
fore Saint Mary's shrine : 

1 And grant, immortal Queen of 
Heaven,' was still the sol- 
dier's prayer, 

' That I may prove the bravest 
knight and love the fairest 
fair.' 

His oath of honor on the shrine he 

graved it with his sword, 
And followed to the Holy Land the 

banner of his Lord ; 
Where, faithful to his noble vow, 

his war-cry filled the air, 
'Be honored aye the bravest 

knight, beloved the fairest 

fair.' 

They owed the conquest to his 

arm, and then his liege-lord 

said, 
' The heart that has for honor 

beat by bliss must be repaid. 
My daughter Isabel and thou shall 

be a wedded pair, 
For thou art bravest of the brave, 

she fairest of the fair.' 

And then they bound the holy 

knot before Saint Mary's 

shrine 
That makes a paradise on earth, 

if hearts and hands combine ; 
And every lord and lady bright 

that were in chapel there 
Cried, 'Honored be the bravest 

knight, beloved the fairest 

fair ! » 



THE TROUBADOUR 
FROM THE FRENCH 

Glowing with love, on fire for 
fame, 
A Troubadour that hated sor- 
row 
Beneath his lady's window came, 
And thus he sung his last good- 
morrow : 
' My arm it is my country's right, 
My heart is in my true-love's 
bower ; 
Gayly for love and fame to fight 
Befits the gallant Troubadour.' 

And while he marched with helm 
on head 
And harp in hand, the descant 
rung, 
As, faithful to his favorite maid, 
The minstrel-burden still he 
sung : 
1 My arm it is my country's right, 

My heart is in my lady's bower ; 
Resolved for love and fame to 
fight, 
I come, a gallant Troubadour,' 

Even when the battle-roar was 
deep, 
With dauntless heart he hewed 
his way, 
Mid splintering lance and falchion- 
sweep, 
And still was heard his warrior- 
lay: 
' My life it is my country's right, 

My heart is in my lady's bower ; 
For love to die, for fame to fight, 
Becomes the gallant Trouba- 
dour.' 

Alas ! upon the bloody field 
He fell beneath the foeman's 
glaive, 
But still reclining on his shield, 
Expiring sung the exulting 
stave : 
I ' My life it is my country's right, 



SONG 



575 



My heart is in my lady's bower; 
For love and fame to fall in fight 
Becomes the valiant Trouba- 
dour.' 



FROM THE FRENCH 

It chanced that Cupid on a sea- 
son, 
By Fancy urged, resolved to wed, 
But could not settle whether Rea- 
son 
Or Folly should partake his bed. 

What does he then? — Upon my 
life, 
'T was bad example for a deity — 
He takes me Reason for a wife, 
And Folly for his hours of gay- 
ety. 

Though thus he dealt in petty trea- 
son, 
He loved them both in equal 
measure ; 
Fidelity was born of Reason, 
And Folly brought to bed of 
Pleasure. 



SONG 

ON THE LIFTING OF THE BAN- 
NER OF THE HOUSE OF BUC- 
CLEUCH AT A GREAT FOOT- 
BALL MATCH ON CAETEE- 
HAUGH 

From the brown crest of Newark 
its summons extending, 
Our signal is waving in smoke 
and in flame ; 
And each forester blithe, from his 
mountain descending, 
Bounds light o'er the heather to 
join in the game. 
Then up with the Banner, let 
forest winds fan her, 
She has blazed over Ettrick 
eight ages and more ; 



In sports we '11 attend her, in 
battle defend her, 
With heart and with hand, 
like our fathers before. 

When the Southern invader spread 
waste and disorder, 
At the glance of her crescents 
he paused and withdrew, 
For around them were marshalled 
the pride of the Border, 
The Flowers of the Forest, the 
Bands of Buccleuch. 

A stripling's weak hand to our 
revel has borne her, 
No mail-glove has grasped her, 
no spearmen surround ; 
But ere a bold foeman should 
scathe or should scorn her 
A thousand true hearts would 
be cold on the ground. 

We forget each contention of civil 
dissension, 
And hail, like our brethren, 
Home, Douglas, and Car : 
And Elliot and Pringle in pas- 
time shall mingle, 
As welcome in peace as their 
fathers in war. 

Then strip, lads, and to it, though 
sharp be the weather, 
And if by mischance you should 
happen to fall, 
There are worse things in life than 
a tumble on heather, 
And life is itself but a game at 
foot-ball. 

And when it is over we '11 drink a 
blithe measure 
To each laird and each lady that 
witnessed our fun, 
And to every blithe heart that took 
part in our pleasure, 
To the lads that have lost and 
the lads that have won. 

May the Forest still flourish, both 
Borough and Landward, 



S76 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



From the hall of the peer to the 
herd's ingle-nook ; 
And huzza! my brave hearts, for 
Buccleuch and his stand- 
ard, 
For the King and the Country, 
the Clan and the Duke ! 
Then up with the Banner, let 
forest winds fan her, 
She has blazed over Ettrick 
eight ages and more ; 
In sport we '11 attend her, in 
battle defend her, 
With heart and with hand, 
like our fathers before. 



SONGS FROM GUY MANNER- 
ING 

Published in 1815 



k CANNY MOMENT, LUCKY FIT ' 

From chapter ill. 

Canny moment, lucky fit ; 

Is the lady lighter yet ? 

Be it lad, or be it lass, 

Sign wi' cross, and sain wi' mass. 

Trefoil, vervain, John's-wort, dill, 
Hinders witches of their will ; 
Weel is them, that weel may 
Fast upon St. Andrew's day. 

Saint Bride and her brat, 
Saint Colme and her cat, 
Saint Michael and his spear, 
Keep the house f rae reif and wear. 



ii 

1 TWIST YE, TWINE YE ! EVEN SO ' 

From chapter iv. 

Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 
Mingle shades of joy and woe, 



Hope and fear and peace and 

strife, 
In the thread of human life. 

While the mystic twist is spinning, 
And the infant's life beginning, 
Dimly seen through twilight bend- 

ing, 
Lo, what varied shapes attending ! 

Passions wild and follies vain, 
Pleasures soon exchanged for 

pain; 
Doubt and jealousy and fear, 
In the magic dance appear. 

Now they wax and now they 

dwindle, 
Whirling with the whirling spindle, 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 
Mingle human bliss and woe. 



in 

' WASTED, WEARY, WHEREFORE 
STAY' 

From chapter xxvii. 

Wasted, weary, wherefore stay, 
Wrestling thus with earth and 

clay? 
From the body pass away ; — 
Hark ! the mass is singing. 

From thee doff thy mortal weed, 
Mary Mother be thy speed, 
Saints to help thee at thy need; — 
Hark ! the knell is ringing. 

Fear not snow-drift drifting fast, 
Sleet or hail or levin blast ; 
Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast, 
And the sleep be on thee cast 
That shall ne'er know waking. 

Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone, 
Earth flits fast, and time draws 

on,— 
Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy 
groan, 
Day is near the breaking. 



THE RETURN TO ULSTER 



577 



IV 
4 DARK SHALL BE LIGHT ' 

From chapter xlix. 

Dark shall be light, 
And wrong done to right, 
When Bertram's right and Ber- 
tram's might 
Shall meet on Ellangowan's height. 



LULLABY OF AN INFANT 
CHIEF 

Air — ' Cadul gu lo ' 

O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire 

was a knight, 
Thy mother a lady both lovely and 

bright; 
The woods and the glens, from the 

tow r ers which we see, 
They all are belonging, dear babie, 

to thee. 
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo, 
Oho ro, i ri ri, etc. 



O, fear not the bugle, though loudly 
it blows, 

It calls but the warders that guard 
thy repose ; 

Their bows would be bended, then- 
blades would be red, 

Ere the step of a foeman draws 
near to thy bed. 
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc. 



O, hush thee, my babie, the time 

soon will come, 
When thy sleep shall be broken 

by trumpet and drum ; 
Then hush thee, my darling, take 

rest while you may, 
For strife comes with manhood 

and waking with day, 
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc. 



THE RETURN TO ULSTER 

Once again, — but how changed 
since my wanderings be- 
gan — 

I have heard the deep voice of the 
Lagan and Bann, 

And the pines of Clanbrassil re- 
sound to the roar 

That wearies the echoes of fair 
Tullamore. 

Alas! my poor bosom, and why 
shouldst thou burn ! 

With the scenes of my youth can 
its raptures return ? 

Can I live the dear life of delusion 
again, 

That flowed when these echoes 
first mixed with my strain ? 

It was then that around me, 
though poor and unknown, 

High spells of mysterious enchant- 
ment were thrown ; 

The streams were of silver, of dia- 
mond the dew, 

The land was an Eden, for fancy 
was new. 

I had heard of our bards, and my 
soul was on fire 

At the rush of their verse and the 
sweep of their lyre : 

To me 't was not legend nor tale 
to the ear, 

But a vision of noontide, distin- 
guished and clear. 

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the 

call, 
And renewed the wild pomp of 

the chase and the hall ; 
And the standard of Fion flashed 

fierce from on high, 
Like a burst of the sun when the 

tempest is nigh. 
It seemed that the harp of green 

Erin once more 
Could renew all the glories she 

boasted of yore. — 
Yet why at remembrance, fond 

heart, shouldst thou burn? 



573 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



They were days of delusion and 
cannot return. 

But was she, too, a phantom, the 

maid who stood by, 
And listed my lay while she turned 

from mine eye ? 
Was she, too, a vision, just glan- 
cing to view, 
Then dispersed in the sunbeam or 

melted to dew ? 
O, would it had been so! — O, 

would that her eye 
Had been but a star-glance that 

shot through the sky, 
And her voice that was moulded 

to melody's thrill, 
Had been but a zephyr that sighed 

and was still ! 

O, would it had been so ! — not 

then this poor heart 
Had learned the sad lesson, to 

love and to part ; 
To bear unassisted its burden of 

care, 
While I toiled for the wealth I had 

no one to share. 
Not then had I said, when life's 

summer was done 
And the hours of her autumn were 

fast speeding on, 
' Take the fame and the riches ye 

brought in your train, 
And restore me the dream of my 

springtide again.' 



JOCK OF HAZELDEAN 

Air — ' A Border Melody ' 

1 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 

Why weep ye by the tide ? 
I '11 wed ye to my youngest son, 

And ye sail be his bride : 
And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 

Sae comely to be seen ' — 
But aye she loot the tears down 
fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 



1 Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 

And dry that cheek so pale ; 
Young Frank is chief of Errington 

And lord of Langley-dale ; 
His step is first in peaceful ha', 

His sword in battle keen ' — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

4 A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 

Nor braid to bind your hair ; 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed 
hawk, 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
And you, the foremost o' them a', 

Shall ride our forest queen.' — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 

The kirk was decked at morning- 
tide, 
The tapers glimmered fair ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait 
the bride, 
And dame and knight are there. 
They sought her baith by bower 
and ha' ; 
The ladie w T as not seen ! 
She 's o'er the Border and awa' 
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 



PIBROCH OF DONALD DHL 
Air— • Piobair of Donuil Dhuidh ' 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, 

Summon Clan Conuil. 
Come away, come away, 

Hark to the summons ! 
Come in your war array, 

Gentles and commons. 

Come from deep glen and 
From mountain so rocky, 

The war-pipe and pennon 
Are at Inverlochy. 

Come every hill-plaid and 
True heart that wears one, 



i 



MACGREGOR'S GATHERING 



579 



Come every steel blade and 


Begins to bloom in purple light : 


Strong hand that bears one. 


The frost-wind soon shall sweep 




away 


Leave untended the herd, 


That lustre deep from glen and 


The flock without shelter ; 


brae; 


Leave the corpse uninterred, 


Yet Nora ere its bloom be gone 


The bride at the altar ; 


May blithely wed the Earlie's 


Leave the deer, leave the steer, 


son.' 


Leave nets and barges : 




Come with your fighting gear, 


* The swan,' she said, ' the lake's 


Broadswords and targes. 


clear breast 




May barter for the eagle's nest ; 


Come as the winds come when 


The Awe's fierce stream may 


Forests are rended ; 


backward turn, 


Come as the waves come when 


Ben-Cruaichan fall and crush Kil- 


Navies are stranded : 


churn ; 


Faster come, faster come, 


Our kilted clans when blood is 


Faster and faster, 


high 


Chief, vassal, page and groom, 


Before their foes may turn and 


Tenant and master. 


fly; 




But I, were all these marvels done, 


Fast they come, fast they come ; 


Would never wed the Earlie's 


See how they gather ! 


son.' 


Wide waves the eagle plume, 




Blended with heather. 


Still in the water-lily's shade 


Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 


Her wonted nest the wild-swan 


Forward each man set ! 


made; 


Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 


Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as 


Knell for the onset ! 


ever, 




Still downward foams the Awe's 




fierce river ; 


NORA'S VOW 


To shun the clash of foeman's 
steel 


Aie — ■ Cha teid mis a chaoidh ' 


No Highland brogue has turned 




the heel ; 


Hear what Highland Nora said, 


But Nora's heart is lost and 


' The Earlie's son I will not wed, 


won — 


Should all the race of nature die 


She 's wedded to the Earlie's son ! 


And none be left but he and I. 




For all the ^old, for all the gear, 




And all the lands both far and 
near, 


MACGREGOR'S GATHERING 


That ever valor lost or won, 


Air — * ThairC a Grigalach ' 


I would not wed the Earlie's son.' 






The moon 's on the lake and the 


'A maiden's vows,' old Galium 


mist 's on the brae, 


spoke, 


And the Clan has a name that is 


1 Are lightly made and lightly 


nameless by day ; 


broke ; 


Then gather, gather, gather, 


The heather on the mountain's 


Grigalach I 


height 


Gather, gather, gather, etc. 



5 8o 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Our signal for fight, that from 

monarchs we drew, 
Must be heard but by night in our 
vengeful haloo ! 
Then haloo, Grigalach ! haloo, 

Grigalach ! 
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, 
etc. 

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, 

Coalchurn and her towers, 
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer 
are ours ; 
We 're landless, landless, land- 
less, Grigalach ! 
Landless, landless, landless, 
etc. 

But doomed and devoted by vassal 

and lord, 
MacGregor has still both his heart 
and his sword ! 
Then courage, courage, cour- 
age, Grigalach ! 
Courage, courage, courage, etc. 

If they rob us of name and pursue 

us with beagles, 
Give their roofs to the flame and 
their flesh to the eagles ! 
Then vengeance, vengeance, 

vengeance, Grigalach! 
Vengeance, vengeance, ven- 
geance, etc. 

While there 's leaves in the forest 

and foam on the river, 
MacGregor, despite them, shall 
flourish forever! 
Come then, Grigalach, come 

then, Grigalach ! 
Come then, come then, come 
then, etc. 

Through the depths of Loch Ka- 
trine the steed shall career, 

O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the 
galley shall steer, 

And the rocks of Craig-Royston 
like icicles melt, 



Ere our wrongs be forgot or our 

vengeance unfelt. 
Then gather, gather, gather, 

Grigalach ! 
Gather, gather, gather, etc. 



VERSES 

COMPOSED FOB, THE OCCASION, 
ADAPTED TO HAYDN'S AIR 
'GOD SAVE THE EMPEROR 
FRANCIS,' AND SUNG BY A SE- 
LECT BAND AFTER THE DIN- 
NER GIVEN BY THE LORD PRO- 
VOST OF EDINBURGH TO THE 
GRANDDUKE NICHOLAS OF 
RUSSIA, AND HIS SUITE, 19TH 
DECEMBER, 1816 

God protect brave Alexander, 
Heaven defend the noble Czar, 
Mighty Russia's high Commander, 
First in Europe's banded war ; 
For the realms he did deliver 
From the tyrant overthrown, 
Thou, of every good the Giver, 
Grant him long to bless his own ! 
Bless him, mid his land's disas- 
ter 
For her rights who battled brave ; 
Of the land of f oemen master, 
Bless him who their wrongs for- 
gave. 

O'er his just resentment victor, 
Victor over Europe's foes, 
Late and long supreme director, 
Grant in peace his reign may 

close. 
Hail ! then, hail ! illustrious stran- 
ger! 
Welcome to our mountain strand 
Mutual interests, hopes, and dan- 
ger, 
Link us with thy native land. 
Freemen's force or false beguiling 
Shall that union ne'er divide, 
Hand in hand while peace is smil- 
ing, 
And in battle side by side. 



VERSES FROM THE ANTIQUARY 



S8i 



VERSES FROM THE ANTI- 
QUARY 

Published in 1816 



'he came, but valor had so 
fired his eye ' 

From chapter vi. 

He came — but valor had so fired 

his eye, 
And such a falchion glittered on 

his thigh, 
That, by the gods, with such a load 

of steel, 
I thought he came to murder — 

not to heal. 



11 

' WHY SIT'ST THOU BY THAT 
RUINED HALL ' 

From chapter x. 

1 Why sit' st thou by that ruined 
hall, 
Thou aged carle so stern and 
gray? 
Dost thou its former pride recall, 
Or ponder how it passed 
away ? ' — 

1 Know'st thou not me?' the Deep 
Voice cried ; 
'So long enjoyed, so oft mis- 
used— 
Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 
Desired, neglected, and accused ! 

'Before my breath, like .blazing 

flax, 

Man and his marvels pass away ! 

And changing empires wane and 

wax, 

Are founded, flourish, and decay. 

'Redeem mine hours— the space 
is brief — 



While in my glass the sand- 
grains shiver, 
And measureless thy joy or grief, 

When Time and thou shalt part 
forever ! ' 



in 

EPITAPH 

From chapter xi. 

Heir lyeth John o' ye Girnell, 
Erth has ye nit and heuen ye 

kirnell. 
In hys tyme ilk wyfe's hennis 

clokit, 
Ilka gud mannis herth wi» bairnis 

was stokit, 
He deled a boll o' bear in firlottis 

fyve, 
Four for ye halie kirke and ane 

for puir mennis wyvis. 



IV 

' THE HERRING LOVES THE 
MERRY MOON-LIGHT » 

From chapter xi. 

The herring loves the merry 
moon-light, 
The mackerel loves the wind, 
But the oyster loves the dredging 
sang, 
For they come of a gentle kind. 

Now baud your tongue, baith wife 
and carle, 
And listen great and sma', 
And I will sing of Glenallan's 
Earl 
That fought on the red Harlaw. 

The cronach 's cried on Bennachie 
And doun the Don and a', 

And hieland and lawland may 
mournfu' be 
For the sair field of Harlaw. — 



5 82 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



They saddled a hundred milk- 
white steeds, 
They hae bridled a hundred 
black, 
With a chafron of steel on each 
horse's head, 
And a good knight upon his 
back. 

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, 

A mile but barely ten, 
When Donald came branking down 
the brae 

Wi' twenty thousand men. 

Their tartans they were waving 
wide, 
Their glaives were glancing 
clear, 
The pibrochs rung frae side to 
side, 
Would deafen ye to hear. 

The great Earl in his stirrups 
stood, 
That Highland host to see : 
' Now here a knight that 's stout 
and good 
May prove a jeopardie ; 

1 What would'stthou do, my squire 
so gay, 

That rides beside my reyne,— 
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, 

And I were Koland Cheyne ? 

4 To turn the rein were sin and 
shame, 
To fight were wond'rous peril,— 
What would ye do now, Koland 
Cheyne, 
Were ye Glenallan's Earl ? ' — 

' Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, 
And ye were Koland Cheyne, 

The spur should be in my horse's 
side, 
And the bridle upon his mane. 

• If they hae twenty thousand 
blades, 
And we twice ten times ten, 



Yet they hae but their tartan 
plaids, 
And we are mail-clad men. 

' My horse shall ride through 

ranks sae rude, 

As through the moorland fern, — 

Then ne'er let the gentle Norman 

blude 

Grow cauld for Highland kerne.' 



He turned him right and round 
again, 
Said, * Scorn na at my mither ; 
Light loves I may get a mony a 
ane, 
But minnie ne'er anither.' 

THE SEAKCH AFTER HAP- 
PINESS 

OR, THE QUEST OF SULTAT N 
SOLIMAUN 

O, for a glance of that gay 

Muse's eye 
That lightened on Bandello's 

laughing tale, 
And twinkled with a lustre 

shrewd and sly 
When Giam Battista bade her 

vision hail ! — 
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive 

detail 
Given by the natives of that land 

canorous ; 
Italian license loves to leap the 

pale, 
We Britons have the fear of 

shame before us, 
And, if not wise in mirth, at least 

must be decorous. 

In the far eastern clime, no great 
while since, io 

Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty 
prince, 

Whose eyes, as oft as they per- 
formed their round, 

Beheld all others fixed upon the 
ground ; 



THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS 



;s 3 



Whose ears received the same un- 
varied phrase, 
'Sultaun! thy vassal hears and 

he obeys ! ' 
All have their tastes — this may 

the fancy strike 
Of such grave folks as pomp and 

grandeur like ; 
For me, I love the honest heart 

and warm 
Of monarch who can amble round 

his farm, 
Or, when the toil of state no more 

annoys, 20 

In chimney corner seek domestic 

joys — 
I love a prince will bid the bottle 

pass, 
Exchanging with his subjects 

glance and glass ; 
In fitting time can, gayest of the 

gay, 
Keep up the jest and mingle in the 

lay — 
Such monarchs best our free-born 

humors suit, 
But despots must be stately, stern, 

and mute. 

This Solimaun Serendib had in 

sway — 
And where 's Serendib ? may some 

critic say. — 
Good lack, mine honest friend, 

consult the chart, 30 

Scare not my Pegasus before I 

start ! 
If Rennell has it not, you '11 find 

mayhap 
The isle laid down in Captain 

Sindbad's map — 
Famed mariner, whose merciless 

narrations 
Drove every friend and kinsman 

out of patience, 
Till, fain to find a guest who 

thought them shorter, 
He deigned to tell them over to a 

porter — 
The last edition see, by Long and 

Co., 



Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers 
in the Row. 

Serendib found, deem not my tale 

a fiction — 40 

This Sultaun, whether lacking 

contradiction — 
A sort of stimulant which hath its 

uses 
To raise the spirits and reform the 

juices, 
Sovereign specific for all sorts of 

cures 
In my wife's practice and perhaps 

in yours — 
The Sultaun lacking this same 

wholesome bitter, 
Or cordial smooth for prince's pal- 
ate fitter — 
Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his 

dreams 
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such 

wild themes 
Belonging to the Mollah's subtle 

craft, 50 

I wot not — but the Sultaun never 

laughed, 
Scarce ate or drank, and took a 

melancholy 
That scorned all remedy profane 

or holy ; 
In his long list of melancholies, 

mad 
Or mazed or dumb, hath Burton 

none so bad. 



Physicians soon arrived, sage, 

ware, and tried, 
As e'er scrawled jargon in a 

darkened room ; 
W T ith heedful glance the Sultaun's 

tongue they eyed, 
Peeped in his bath and God knows 

where beside, 
And then in solemn accent spoke 

their doom, 60 

' His majesty is very far from 

well.' 
Then each to work with his 

specific fell : 



5§4 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



The Hakim Ibrahim instanter 


Gave, like Sempronius, still their 


brought 


voice for war — 


His unguent Mahazzim al Zer- 


' The sabre of the Sultaun in its 


dukkaut, 


sheath 


While Koompot, a practitioner 


Too long has slept nor owned the 


more wily, 


work of death ; 9 o 


Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily. 


Let the Tambourgi bid his signal 


More and yet more in deep array 


rattle, 


appear, 


Bang the loud gong and raise the 


And some the front assail and 


shout of battle ! 


some the rear ; 


This dreary cloud that dims our 


Their remedies to reinforce and 


sovereign's day 


vary 


Shall from his kindled bosom flit 


Came surgeon eke, and eke apoth- 


away, 


ecary ; 70 


When the bold Lootie wheels his 


Till the tired monarch, though of 


courser round 


words grown chary, 


And the armed elephant shall 


Yet dropt, to recompense their 


shake the ground. 


fruitless labor, 


Each noble pants to own the glori- 


Some hint about a bowstring or a 


ous summons — 


sabre. 


And for the charges — Lo! your 


There lacked, I promise you, no 


faithful Commons ! • 


longer speeches 


The Riots who attended in their 


To rid the palace of those learned 


places — 


leeches. 


Serendib language calls a farmer 




Riot — 100 


Then was the council called — by 


Looked ruefully in one another's 


their advice — 


faces, 


They deemed the matter ticklish 


From this oration auguring much 


all and nice, 


disquiet, 


And sought to shift it off from 


Double assessment, forage, and 


their own shoulders — 


free quarters ; 


Tartars and couriers in all speed 


And fearing these as Chinamen 


were sent, 


the Tartars, 


To call a sort of Eastern Parlia- 


Or as the whiskered vermin fear 


ment 80 


the mousers, 


Of feudatory chieftains and free- 


Each fumbled in the pocket of his 


holders — 


trousers. 


Such have the Persians at this 




very day, 


And next came forth the reverend 


My gallant Malcolm calls them 


Convocation, 


couroultai ; — 


Bald heads, white beards, and 


I 'm not prepared to show in this 


many a turban green, 


slight song 


Imaum and Mollah there of every 


That to Serendib the same forms 


station, 


belong — 


Santon, Fakir, and Calendar 


E'en let the learned go search, and 


were seen. no 


tell me if I 'm wrong. 


Their votes were various — some 




advised a mosque 


The Omrahs, each with hand on 


With fitting revenues should be 


scimitar, 


erected, 



THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS 



585 



With seemly gardens and with gay 
kiosque, 
To recreate a band of priests se- 
lected ; 

Others opined that through the 
realms a dole 
Be made to holy men, whose 
prayers might profit 

The Sultaun's weal in body and in 
soul. 
But their long-headed chief, the 
Sheik Ul-Sotit, 

More closely touched the point; — 
' Thy studious mood,' 

Quoth he, ' O Prince ! hath thick- 
ened all thy blood, 120 

And dulled thy brain with labor 
beyond measure ; 

Wherefore relax a space and take 
thy pleasure, 

And toy with beauty or tell o'er 
thy treasure ; 

From all the cares of state, my 
liege, enlarge thee, 

And leave the burden to thy faith- 
ful clergy.' 



These counsels sage availed not a 

whit, 
Aud so the patient — as is not 

uncommon 
Where grave physicians lose their 

time and wit — 
Resolved to take advice of an old 

woman ; 
His mother she, a dame who once 

was beauteous, 130 

And still was called so by each 

subject duteous. 
Now, whether Fatima was witch 

in earnest, 
Or only made believe, I cannot 

say — 
But she professed to cure disease 

the sternest, 
By dint of magic amulet or lay ; 
And, when all other skill in vain 

was shown, 
She deemed it fitting time to use 

her own. 



1 Sympathia magica hath wonders 

done ' — 
Thus did old Fatima bespeak her 

son — 
1 It works upon the fibres and the 

pores, 140 

And thus insensibly our health re- 
stores, 
And it must help us here. — Thou 

must endure 
The ill, my son, or travel for the 

cure. 
Search land and sea, and get 

where'er you can 
The inmost vesture of a happy 

man, 
I mean his shirt, my son; which, 

taken warm 
And fresh from off his back, shall 

chase your harm, 
Bid every current of your veins 

rejoice, 
And your dull heart leap light as 

shepherd-boy's.' 
Such was the counsel from his 

mother came ; — 150 

I know not if she had some under- 
game, 
As doctors, have, who bid their 

patients roam 
And live abroad when sure to die 

at home ; 
Or if she thought that, somehow or 

another, 
Queen-Regent sounded better than 

Queen-Mother ; 
But, says the Chronicle — who will 

go look it — 
That such was her advice— -the 

Sultaun took it. 

All are on board — the Sultaun and 

his train, 
In gilded galley prompt to plough 

the main. 
The old Rais was the first who 

questioned, ' Whither ? ' 160 
They paused — 'Arabia,' thought 

the pensive prince, 
1 Was called The Happy many ages 

since — 



586 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



For Mokha, Rais.' — And they 

came safely thither. 
But not in Araby with all her 

balm, 
Not where Judea weeps beneath 

her palm, 
Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian 

waste, 
Could there the step of happiness 

be traced. 
One Copt alone professed to have 

seen her smile, 
When Bruce his goblet filled at 

infant Nile : 
She blessed the dauntless traveller 

as he quaffed, 170 

But vanished from him with the 

ended draught. 

'Enough of turbans,' said the 

weary King, 
'These dolimans of ours are not 

the thing; 
Try we the Giaours, these men of 

coat and cap, I 
Incline to think some of them must 

be happy ; 
At least, they have as fair a cause 

as any can, » 
They drink good wine and keep no 

Ramazan. 
Then north ward, ho ! ' — The vessel 

cuts the sea, 
And fair Italia lies upon her lee. — 
But fair Italia, she who once un- 
furled 180 
Her eagle-banners o'er a conquered 

world, 
Long from her throne of domina- 
tion tumbled, 
Lay by her q uoudam vassals sorely 

humbled ; 
The Pope himself looked pensive, 

pale, and lean, 
And was not half the man he once 

had been. 
4 While these the priest and those 

the noble fleeces, 
Our poor old boot,' they said, ' is 

torn to pieces. 
Its tops the vengeful claws of 

Austria feel, 



And the Great Devil is rending toe 

and heel. 
If happiness you seek, to tell you 

truly, i 9 o 

We think she dwells with one 

Giovanni Bulli; 
A tramontane, a heretic — the 

buck, 
Poffaredio ! still has all the luck ; 
By land or ocean never strikes his 

flag- 
And then — a perfect walking 

money-bag.' 
Off set our prince to seek John 

Bull's abode, 
But first took France — it lay upon 

the road. 

Monsieur Baboon after much late 

commotion 
Was agitated like a settling ocean, 
Quite out of sorts and could not 

tell what ailed him, 200 

Only the glory of his house had 

failed him ; 
Besides, some tumors on his noddle 

biding 
Gave indication of a recent hiding. 
Our prince, though Sultauns of 

such things are heedless, 
Thought it a thing indelicate and 

needless 
To ask if at that moment he was 

happy. 
And Monsieur, seeing that he was 

comme ilfaut, a 
Loud voice mustered up, for k Vive 

le Roi! ' 
Then whispered, ' Ave you any 

news of Nappy?' 
The Sultaun answered him with a 

cross question, — 210 

' Pray, can you tell me aught of 

one John Bull, 
That dwells somewhere beyond 

your herring-pool ? ' 
The query seemed of difficult di- 
gestion, 
The party shrugged and grinned 

and took his snuff, 
And found his whole good-breeding 

scarce enough. 



THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS 



SS; 



Twitching bis visage into as many 

puckers 
As damsels wont to put into their 

tuckers — 
Ere liberal Fashion damned both 

lace and lawn, 
And bade the veil of modesty be 

drawn — 
Replied the Frenchman after a 

brief pause, 220 

' Jean Bool ! — I vas not know him 

— Yes, I vas — 
I vas remember dat, von year or 

two, 
I saw him at von place called 

Vaterloo — 
Ma foi ! il s'est tres joliment battu, 
Dat is for Englishman, — m'enten- 

dez-vous? 
But den he had wit him one damn 

son-gun, 
Rogue I no like — dey call him 

Vellington.' 
Monsieur's politeness could not i 

hide his fret, 
So Solimaun took leave and ! 

crossed the strait. 



John Bull was in his very worst of 

moods, 230 

Raving of sterile farms and unsold 

goods ; 
His sugar-loaves and bales about 

he threw, 
And on his counter beat the devil's 

tattoo. 
His wars were ended and the vic- 
tory won, 
But then 't was reckoning-day with 

honest John ; 
And authors vouch, 't was still this 

worthy's way, 
' Never to grumble till he came to 

pay; 
And then he always thinks, his 

temper 's such, 
The work too little and the pay too 

much/ 
Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind 

and hearty 240 



That when his mortal foe was on 
the floor, 

And past the power to harm his 
quiet more, 
Poor John had wellnigh wept 
for Bonaparte ! 

Such was the wight whom Soli- 
maun salamed,— 

' And who are you,' John answered, 
; and be d d ? ' 

4 A stranger, come to see the hap- 
piest man— 
So, signior, all avouch — in Fran- 

gistan.' 
4 Happy? my tenants breaking on 

my hand; 
Unstoeked my pastures and un- 

tilled my land ; 
Sugar and rum a drug, and mice 

and moths 250 

The sole consumers of my good 

broadcloths — 
Happy ? — Why, cursed war and 

racking tax 
Have left us scarcely raiment to 

our backs.' 
' In that case, signior, I may take 

my leave ; 
I came to ask a favor — but I 

grieve ' — 
' Favor ? ' said John, and eyed the 

Sultaun hard, 
1 It 's my belief you came to break 

the yard ! — 
But, stay, you look like some poor 

foreign sinner — 
Take that to buy yourself a shirt 

and dinner.' 
With that he chucked a guinea at 

his head ; 260 

But with due dignity the Sultaun 

said, 
1 Permit me, sir, your bounty to 

decline ; 
A shirt indeed I seek, but none of 

thine. 
Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare 

you well.' 
' Kiss and be d d,' quoth John, 

' and go to hell ! ' 



588 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Next door to John there dwelt his 

sister Peg, 
Once a wild lass as ever shook a 

leg 
When the blithe bagpipe blew — 

but, soberer now, 
She doucely span her flax and 

milked her cow. 
And whereas erst she was a needy 

slattern, 270 

Nor now of wealth or cleanliness 

a pattern, 
Yet once a month her house was 

partly swept, 
And once a week a plenteous board 

she kept. 
And w r hereas, eke, the vixen used 

her claws 
And teeth of yore on slender 

provocation, 
She now was grown amenable to 

laws, 
A quiet soul as any in the na- 
tion; 
The sole remembrance of her war- 
like joys 
Was in old songs she sang to 

please her boys. 
John Bull, whom in their years of 

early strife 280 

She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish 

life, 
Now found the woman, as he said, 

a neighbor, 
Who looked to the main chance, 

declined no labor, 
Loved a long grace and spoke a 

northern jargon, 
And was d d close in making 

of a bargain. 

The Sultaun entered, and he made 

his leg, 
And with decorum curtsied sister 

Peg — 
She loved a book, and knew a thing 

or two, 
And guessed at once with whom 

she had to do. 
She bade him 'Sit into the fire,' 

and took 290 



Her dram, her cake, her kebbuck 

from the nook ; 
Asked him ' about the news from 

Eastern parts : 
And of her absent bairns, puir 

Highland hearts ! 
If peace brought down the price 

of tea and pepper, 
And if the nitmugs were grown 

ony cheaper; — 
Were there nae speerings of our 

Mungo Park — 
Ye '11 be the gentleman that wants 

the sark? 
If ye wad buy a web 0' auld wife's 

spinning, 
I '11 warrant ye it 's a weel-wear- 

ing linen.' 

Then up got Peg and round the 

house 'gan scuttle 300 

In search of goods her customer 

to nail, 
Until the Sultaun strained his 

princely throttle, 
And holloed, 'Ma'am, that is 

not what I ail. 
Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this 

snug glen?' 
'Happy?' said Peg; 'What for 

d'ye want to ken? 
Besides, just think upon this by- 

gane year, 
Grain wadna pay the yoking of 

the pleugh.' 
' What say you to the present? ' — 

' Meal 's sae dear, 
To make their brose my bairns 

have scarce aneugh.' 
'The devil take the shirt,' said 

Solimaun, 310 

' I think my quest will end as it 

, began. — 
Farewell, ma'am ; nay, no cere- 
mony, I beg ' — 
' Ye '11 no be for the linen then?' 

said Peg. 

Now, for the land of verdant Erin 
The Sultaun' s royal bark is steer- 
ing, 



LINES 



5S9 



The Emerald Isle where honest 

Paddy dwells, 
The cousin of John Bull, as story 

tells. 
For a long space had John, with 

words of thunder, 
Hard looks, and harder knocks, 

kept Paddy under, 
Till the poor lad, like boy that 's 

flogged unduly, 320 

Had gotten somewhat restive and 

unruly. 
Hard was his lot and lodging, 

you '11 allow, 
A wigwam that would hardly serve 

a sow , 
His landlord, and of middle-men 

two brace, 
Had screwed his rent up to the 

starving-place ; 
His garment was a top-coat and 

an old one, 
His meal was a potato, and a cold 

one; 
But still for fun or frolic and all 

that, 
In the round world was not the 

match of Pat. 

The Sultaun saw him on a holi- 
day, 330 

Which is with Paddy still a jolly 
day: 

When mass is ended, and his load 
of sins 

Confessed, and Mother Church 
hath from her binns 

Dealt forth a bonus of imputed 
merit, 

Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, 
and spirit! 

To jest, to sing, to caper fair and 
free, 

And dance as light as leaf upon 
the tree. 

4 By Mahomet,' said Sultaun Soli- 
maun, 

4 That ragged fellow is our very 
man! 

Rush in and seize him— do not do 
him hurt, 340 



But, will he nill he, let me have 
his shin: 

Shilela their plan was wellnigh 

after balking — 
Much less provocation will set it 

a-walking — 
But the odds that foiled Hercules 

foiled Paddy Whack; 
They seized, and they floored, and 

they stripped him — Alack ! 
Up-bubboo ! Paddy had not — a 

shirt to his back ! 
And the king, disappointed, with 

sorrow and shame 
Went back to Serendib as sad as 

he came. 



LINES 
WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH 

When the lone pilgrim views afar 
The shrine that is his guiding star, 
With awe his footsteps print the 

road 
Which the loved saint of yore has 

trod. 
As near he draws and yet more 

near, 
His dim eye sparkles with a tear; 
The Gothic fane's unwonted show, 
The choral hymn, the tapers' 

glow, 
Oppress his soul ; while they de- 
light 
And chasten rapture with affright. 
No longer dare he think his toil 
Can merit aught his patron's smile ; 
Too light appears the distant 

way, 
The chilly eve. the sultry day — 
All these endured no favor claim, 
But murmuring forth the sainted 

name, 
He lays his little offering down, 
And only deprecates a frown. 

We too who ply the Thespian 
art 
Oft feel such bodings of the heart, 



590 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



And when our utmost powers are 

strained 
Dare hardly hope your favor 

gained. 
She who from sister climes has 

sought 
The ancient land w T here Wallace 

fought — 
Land long renowned for arms and 

arts, 
And conquering eyes and daunt- 
less hearts — 
She, as the flutterings here avow, 
Feels all the pilgrim's terrors now ; 
Yet, sure on Caledonian plain 
The stranger never sued in vain. 
'T is yours the hospitable task 
To give the applause she dare not 

ask; 
And they who bid the pilgrim 

speed, 
The pilgrim's blessing be their 

meed. 



MR. KEMBLE'S FAREWELL 
ADDRESS 

ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE 
EDINBURGH STAGE 

As the worn war - horse, at the 

trumpet's sound, 
Erects his mane, and neighs, and 

paws the ground — 
Disdains the ease his generous 

lord assigns, 
And longs to rush on the embat- 
tled lines, 
So I, your plaudits ringing on 

mine ear, 
Can scarce sustain to think our 

parting near ; 
To think my scenic hour forever 

past, 
And that those valued plaudits are 

my last. 
Why should we part, while still 

some powers remain, 
That in your service strive not yet 

in vain? 



Cannot high zeal the strength of 
youth supply, 

And sense of duty fire the fading 
eye; 

And all the wrongs of age remain 
subdued 

Beneath the burning glow of grati- 
tude ? 

Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its 
close, 

Oft for a space in fitful lustre 
glows ; 

But all too soon the transient 
gleam is past, 

It cannot be renewed, and will not 
last; 

Even duty, zeal, and gratitude can 
wage 

But short-lived conflict with the 
frosts of age. 

Yes ! It were poor, remembering 
what I was, 

To live a pensioner on your ap- 
plause, 

To drain the dregs of your endur- 
ance dry, 

And take, as alms, the praise I 
once could buy ; 

Till every sneering youth around 
enquires, 

' Is this the man who once could 
please our sires ? ' 

And scorn assumes compassion's 
doubtful mien, 

To warn me off from the encum- 
bered scene. 

This must not be ; — and higher 
duties crave 

Some space between the theatre 
and the grave, 

That, like the Roman in the Capitol, 

I may adjust my mantle ere I fall : 

My life's brief act in public service 
flown, 

The last, the closing scene, must 
be my own. 

Here, then, adieu! while yet 
some well-graced parts 
May fix an ancient favorite in your 
hearts, 



SONG FROM ROB ROY 



591 



Not quite to be forgotten, even 

when 
You look on better actors, younger 

men: 
And if your bosoms own this 

kindly debt 
Of old remembrance, how shall 

mine forget — 
O, how forget ! — how oft I hither 

came 
In anxious hope, how oft returned 

with fame ! 
How oft around your circle this 

weak hand 
Has waved immortal Shake- 
speare's magic wand, 
Till the full burst of inspiration 

came, 
And I have felt, and you have 

fanned the flame ! 
By mem'ry treasured, while her 

reign endures, 
Those hours must live — and all 

their charms are yours. 

O favored Land! renowned for 

arts and arms, 
For manly talent, and for female 

charms, 
Could this full bosom prompt the 

sinking line, 
What fervent benedictions now 

were thine ! 
But my last part is played, my 

knell is rung, 
When e'en your praise falls falter- 
ing from my tongue ; 
And all that you can hear, or I 

can tell, 
Is — Friends and Patrons, hail, 

and FARE you well. 



THE SUN UPON THE WEIRD- 
LAW HILL 

Air — ■ Rimhin aluin 'stu mo run ' 

The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill 
In Ettrick's vale is sinking 
swe'et : 



The westland wind is hush and 

stm, 

The lake lies sleeping at my 
feet. 
Yet not the landscape to mine eye 
Bears those bright hues that 
once it bore, 
Though evening with her richest 
dye 
Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's 
shore. 

With listless look along the plain 
I see Tweed's silver current 
glide, 
And coldly mark the holy fane 

Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. 
The quiet lake, the balmy air, 
The hill, the stream, the tower, 
the tree — 
Are they still such as once they 
were, 
Or is the dreary change in me ? 

Alas! the warped and broken 
board, 
How can it bear the painter's 
dye? 
The harp of strained and tuneless 
chord, 
How to the minstrel's skill reply ? 
To aching eyes each landscape 
lowers, 
To feverish pulse each gale 
blows chill : 
And Araby's or Eden's bowers 
Were barren as this moorland 
hill. 



SONG FROM ROB ROY 

Published in 1817 

TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD 
THE BLACK PRINCE 

O for the voice of that wild horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 
The dying hero's call, 
That told imperial Charlemagne 



592 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



How Paynim sons of swarthy 
Spain 
Had wrought his champion's 
fall. 

Sad over earth and ocean sounding, 
And England's distant cliffs as- 
tounding, 
Such are the notes should say 
How Britain's hope, and France's 

fear, 
Victor of Cressy and Poitier, 
In Bourdeaux dying lay. 

4 Raise my faint head, my squires,' 

he said, 
' And let the casement be display'd, 

That I may see once more 
The splendor of the setting sun 
Gleam on thy mirror'd wave, Ga- 
ronne, 
And Blaye's empurpled shore. 

4 Like me, he sinks to Glory's 

sleep, 
His fall the dews of evening steep, 

As if in sorrow shed. 
So soft shall fall the trickling tear, 
When England's maids and ma- 
trons hear 
Of their Black Edward dead. 

1 And though my sun of glory set, 
Nor France nor England shall for- 
. get 
The terror of my name ; 
And oft shall Britain's heroes rise, 
New planets in these southern 
skies, 
Through clouds of blood and 
flame.' 



THE MONKS OF BANGOR'S 
MARCH 

Air — ' Ymdaith Mionge ' 

When the heathen trumpet's 

clang 
Round beleaguered Chester rang, 



Veiled nun and friar gray 
Marched from Bangor's fair Ab- 

baye; 
High their holy anthem sounds, 
Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds, 
Floating down the sylvan Dee, 
O miserere, Domine ! 

On the long procession goes, 
Glory round their crosses glows, 
And the Virgin-mother mild 
In their peaceful banner smiled ; 
Who could think such saintly 

band 
Doomed to feel unhallowed hand ? 
Such was the Divine decree, 
O miserere. Domine I 



Bands that masses only sung, 
Hands that censers only swung, 
Met the northern bow and bill, 
Heard the war-cry wild and shrill : 
Woe to Brockmael's feeble hand, 
Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand, 
Woe to Saxon cruelty, 

miserere, Domine ! 

Weltering amid warriors slain, 
Spurned by steeds with bloody 

mane, 
Slaughtered down by heathen 

blade, 
Bangor's peaceful monks are laid : 
Word of parting rest unspoke, 
Mass unsung and bread unbroke ; 
For their souls for charity, 

Sing, miserere, Domine ! 



Bangor ! o'er the murder wail ! 
Long thy ruins told the tale, 
Shattered towers and broken arch 
Long recalled the woful march : 
On thy shrine no tapers burn, 
Never shall thy priests return ; 
The pilgrim sighs and sings for 
thee, 
O miserere, Domine ! 



MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT 



593 



EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL 

SPOKEN BY MRS. HENRY SID- 
DONS, FEB. 16, 1818 

A cat of yore — or else old JEsop 

lied — 
Was changed into a fair and 

blooming bride, 
But spied a mouse upon her mar- 
riage-day, 
Forgot her spouse and seized upon 

her prey ; 
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, 

as you saw, 
Threw off poor me and pounced 

upon papa. 
His neck from Hymen's mystic 

knot made loose, 
He twisted round my sire's the 

literal noose. 
Such are the fruits of our dramatic 

labor 
Since the New Jail became our 

next-door neighbor. 

Yes, times are changed ; for in 

your father's age 
The lawyers were the patrons of 

the stage ; 
However high advanced by future 

fate, 
There stands the bench [points to 

the Pit] that first received 

their weight. 
The future legal sage 't was ours 

to see 
Doom though unwigged and plead 

without a fee. 

But now, astounding each poor 
mimic elf, 

Instead of lawyers comes the law 
herself ; 

Tremendous neighbor, on our right 
she dwells, 

Builds high her towers and exca- 
vates her cells ; 

While on the left she agitates the 
town 



With the tempestuous question, 
Up or down? 

'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus 
stand we, 

Law's final end and law's uncer- 
tainty. 

But, soft ! who lives at Rome the 
Pope must flatter, 

And jails and lawsuits are no jest- 
ing matter. 

Then — just farewell! We wait 
with serious awe 

Till your applause or censure gives 
the law. 

Trusting our humble efforts may 
assure ye, 

We hold you Court and Counsel, 
Judge and Jury. 



MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT 

Am — ' Cha till mi tuille ' 

Macleod's wizard flag from the 

gray castle sallies, 
The rowers are seated, unmoored 

are the galleys ; 
Gleam war-axe and broadsword, 

clang target and quiver, 
As Mackrimmon sings, ' Farewell 

to Dunvegan forever ! 
Farewell to each cliff on which 

breakers are foaming ; 
Farewell, each dark glen in which 

red-deer are roaming ; 
Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, 

mountain, and river ; 
Macleod may return, but Mack- 
rimmon shall never ! 

4 Farewell the bright clouds that 
on Quillan are sleeping ; 

Farewell the bright eyes in the 
Dun that are weeping ; 

To each minstrel delusion, fare- 
well ! — and forever — 

Mackrimmon departs, to return to 
you never ! 

The Banshee's wild voice sings the 
death-dirge before me, 



594 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



The pall of the dead for a mantle 

hangs o'er me ; 
But my heart shall not flag and my 

nerves shall not shiver, 
Though devoted I go — to return 

again never ! 

4 Too oft shall the notes of Mack- 

rimmon's bewailing 
Be heard when the Gael on their 

exile are sailing ; 
Dear land ! to the shores whence 

unwilling we sever 
Return — return — return shall we 
never ! 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin 

tuille ! 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin 

tuille, 
Cha till, cha till, cha till sin 

tuille, 
Gea thillis Macleod, cha till 
Mackrimmon i ■ 



DONALD CAIRD 'S COME 
AGAIN 

Air — ' Malcolm Caird 's come again ' 

CHORUS 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 
Donald Caird 's come again ! 
Tell the news in brugh and 

glen, 
Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird can lilt and sing, 
Blithely dance the Hieland fling, 
Drink till the gudeman be blind, 
Fleech till the gudewife be kind; 
Hoop a leglin, clout a pan, 
Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; 
Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird 's come again. 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Tell the news in brugh and 
glen, 

Donald Caird 's come again. 



Donald Caird can wire a maukin, 
Kens the wiles o' dun-deer stauk- 

in', 
Leisters kipper, makes a shift 
To shoot a muir-f owl in the drift ; 
Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers, 
He can wauk when they are sleep- 
ers; 
Not for bountith or reward 
Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird. 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Gar the bagpipes hum amain, 

Donald Caird 's come again. 

Donald Caird can drink a gill 
Fast as hostler-wife can fill ; 
Ilka ane that sells gude liquor 
Kens how Donald bends a bicker ; 
When he 's fou he 's stout and 

saucy, 
Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey ; 
Hieland chief and Lawland laird 
Maun gie room to Donald Caird ! 

Donald Caird \s come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Tell the news in brugh and 
glen, 

Donald Caird 's come again. 

Steek the amrie, lock the kist, 
Else some gear may weel be mist 
Donald Caird finds orra things 
Where Allan Gregor fand the 

tings ; 
Dunts of kebbuck, taits, o' woo, 
Whiles a hen and whiles a sow, 
Webs or duds f rae hedge or yard — 
'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Dinna let the Shirra ken 

Donald Caird 's come again. 

On Donald Caird the doom was 

stern, 
Craig to tether, legs to aim ; 
But Donald Caird wi' mickle study 
Caught the gift to cheat the wud- 
die; 
Rings of aim, and bolts of steel, 
Fell like ice frae hand and heel ! 



MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONGS 



595 



Watch the sheep in faulcl and glen, 
Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Dinna let the Justice ken 

Donald Caird 's come again. 



MADGE WILDFIKE'S SONGS 

FROM THE HEART OF MID- 
LOTHIAN 

When the gledd's in the blue 
cloud, 
The lav'rock lies still ; 
When the hound's in the green- 
wood, 
The hind keeps the hill. 

1 O sleep ye sound, Sir James,' 
she said, 
1 When ye suld rise and ride ? 
There 's twenty men, wi' bow and 
blade, 
Are seeking where ye hide.' 

I glance like the wildfire thro' 

country and town ; 
I'm seen on the causeway — I'm 

seen on the down ; 
The lightning that flashes so bright 

and so free, 
Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny 

as me. 

What did ye wi' the bridal ring — 

bridal ring— bridal ring? 
What did ye wi' your wedding 

ring, ye little cutty quean, 

O? 
I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a 

sodger, 
I gied it till a sodger, an auld true 

love o' mine, O. 

Good even, good fair moon, good 

even to thee ; 
I prithee, dear moon, now show to 

me 



The form and the features, the 

speech and degree, 
Of the man that true lover of mine 

shall be. 

It is the bonny butcher lad, 
That wears the sleeves of blue ; 

He sells the flesh on Saturday, 
On Friday that he slew. 

There 's a bloodhound ranging 
Tinwald Wood, 
There 's harness glancing sheen ; 
There 's a maiden sits on Tinwald 
brae, 
And she sings loud between. 

With my curtch on my foot, and 
my shoe on my hand, 

I glance like the wildfire through 
brugh and through land. 

In the bonnie cells of Bedlam, 

Ere I was ane and twenty, 
I had hempen bracelets strong, 
And merry whips, ding-dong, 
And prayer and fasting plenty. 

I'm Madge of the country. I'm 
Madge of the town, 

And I'm Madge of the lad I am 
blithest to own, — 

The Lady of Beever in diamonds 
may shine, 

But has not a heart half so light- 
some as mine. 

I am Queen of the Wake, and I 'in 

Lady of May, 
And I lead the blithe ring round 

the May-pole to-day ; 
The wild-fire that flashes so fair 

and so free 
Was never so bright, or so bonnie 

as me, 

Our work is over — over now, 
The goodman wipes his weary 

brow, 
The last long wain wends slow 

away, 
And we are free to sport and play. 



596 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



The night comes on when sets the 
sun, 

And labor ends when day is done. 

When Autumn's gone, and Win- 
ter 's come. 

We hold our jovial harvest-home. 

When the fight of grace is 

fought,— 
When the marriage vest is 

wrought, — 
When Faith has chased cold Doubt 

away — 
And Hope but sickens at delay, — 

When Charity, imprisoned here, 
Longs for a more expanded sphere ; 
Doff thy robes of sin and clay ; 
Christian, rise, and come away. 

Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, 
And sad my sleep of sorrow ; 

But thine sail be as sad and cauld, 
My fause true-love ! to-morrow. 

And weep ye not, my maidens free, 
Though death your mistress bor- 
row ; 

For he for whom I die to-day, 
Shall die for me to-morrow. 

Proud Maisie is in the wood, 

Walking so early ; 
Sweet Kobin sits on the bush, 

Singing so rarely. 

1 Tell me, thou bonny bird, 
When shall I marry me ? ' 

* When six braw gentlemen 

Kirkward shall carry ye.' 

* Who makes the bridal bed, 

Birdie, say truly?' 
1 The gray-headed sexton 
That delves the grave duly. 

'The glow-worm o'er grave and 
stone 

Shall light thee steady. 
The owl from the steeple sing, 

" Welcome, proud lady." ' 



THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH 

'T was when among our linden- 
trees 
The bees had housed in 
swarms — 
And gray-haired peasants say that 
these 
Betoken foreign arms — 

Then looked we down to Willi- 
sow, 

The land was all in flame ; 
We knew the Archduke Leopold 

With all his army came. 

The Austrian nobles made their 
vow, 
So hot their heart and bold, io 
' On Switzer carles we '11 trample 
now, 
And slay both young and old.' 

With clarion loud and banner 
proud, 
From Zurich on the lake, 
In martial pomp and fair ar- 
ray 
Their onward march they make. 






' Now list, ye lowland nobles all — 
Ye seek the mountain-strand, 

Nor wot ye what shall be your 
lot 
In such a dangerous land. 20 

' I rede ye, shrive ye of your 
sins 

Before ye farther go ; 
A skirmish in Helvetian hills 

May send your souls to woe.' 

' But where now shall we find a 
priest 
Our shrift that he may hear?' — 
' The Switzer priest has ta'en the 
field, 
He deals a penance drear. 

' Right heavily upon your head 
He '11 lay his hand of steel, 30 



THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH 



597 



And with his trusty partisan 
Your absolution deal.' 

T was on a Monday morning then, 

The corn was steeped in dew, 
And merry maids had sickles ta'en, 
When the host to Sempach drew. 

The stalwart men of fair Lucerne, 
Together have they joined ; 

The pith and core of manhood 
stern, 
Was none cast looks behind. 40 

It was the Lord of Hare-castle, 
And to the Duke he said, 

* Yon little band of brethren true 
Will meet us undismayed.' — 

' Hare-castle, thou heart of hare ! ' 
Fierce Oxenstern replied. — 

' Shalt see then how the game will 
fare,' 
The taunted knight replied. 

There was lacing then of helmets 
bright, 
And closing ranks amain ; 50 
The peaks they hewed from their 
boot-points 
Might well-nigh load a wain. 

And thus they to each other said, 
1 Yon handful down to hew 

Will be no boastful tale to tell, 
The peasants are so few.' 

The gallant Swiss Confederates 
there, 

They prayed to God aloud, 
And he displayed his rainbow fair 

Against a swarthy cloud. 60 

Then heart and pulse throbbed 
more and more 
With courage firm and high, 
And down the good Confederates 
bore 
On the Austrian chivalry. 

The Austrian Lion 'gan to growl 
And toss his mane and tail, 



And ball and shaft and crossbow- 
bolt 
Went whistling forth like hail. 

Lance, pike, and halbert mingled 
there, 69 

The game was nothing sweet ; 
The bough of many a stately tree 

Lay shivered at their feet. 

The Austrian men-at-arms stood 
fast, 
So close their spears they laid ; 
It chafed the gallant Wlnkel- 
reid, 
Who to his comrades said — 

' I have a virtuous wife at home, 

A wife and infant son.; 
I leave them to my country's 
care, — 

This field shall soon be won. 80 

'These nobles lay their spears 
right thick 
And keep full firm array, 
Yet shall my charge their order 
break 
And make my brethren way.' 

He rushed against the Austrian 
band, 
In desperate career, 
And with his body, breast, and 
hand, 
Bore down each hostile spear. 

Four lances splintered on his crest, 
Six shivered in his side ; 90 

Still on the serried files he 
pressed 
He broke their ranks and died. 

This patriot's self-devoted deed 
First tamed the Lion's mood, 

And the four Forest Cantons freed 
From thraldom by his blood. 

Eight where his charge had made 
a lane 
His valiant comrades burst, 



59 8 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



With sword and axe and parti- 
san, 
And hack and stab and thrust, ioo 

The daunted Lion 'gan to whine 
And granted ground amain, 

The Mountain Bull he bent his 
brows, 
And gored his sides again. 

Then lost was banner, spear, and 
shield 
At Sempach in the flight, 
The cloister vaults at Konig's 
field 
Hold many an Austrian knight. 

It was the Archduke Leopold, 
So lordly would he ride, 1 10 

But he came against the Switzer 
churls, 
And they slew him in his pride. 

The heifer said unto the bull, 
4 And shall I not complain ? 

There came a foreign nobleman 
To milk me on the plain. 

'One thrust of thine outrageous 
horn 
Has galled the knight so sore 
That to the churchyard he is 
borne, 
To range our glens no 
more.' 120 

An Austrian noble left the stour, 
And fast the flight 'gan take ; 

And he arrived in luckless hour 
At Sempach on the lake. 

He and his squire a fisher called — 
His name was Hans von Rot — 

* For love or meed or charity, 
Receive us in thy boat ! ' 

Their anxious call the fisher 
heard, 
And, glad the meed to win, 130 



His shallop to the shore he steered 
And took the flyers in. 

And while against the tide and 
wind 

Hans stoutly rowed his way, 
The noble to his follower signed 

He should the boatman slay. 

The fisher's back was to them 
turned, 

The squire his dagger drew, 
Hans saw his shadow in the lake. 

The boat he overthrew. 140 

He whelmed the boat, and as they 
strove 
He stunned them with his oar, 
' Now, drink ye deep, my gentle 
sirs, 
You '11 ne'er stab boatman 
more. 

' Two gilded fishes in the lake 
This morning have I caught, 

Their silver scales may much 
avail, 
Their carrion flesh is naught.' 

It was a messenger of woe 149 
Has sought the Austrian land : 

' Ah ! gracious lady, evil news ! 
My lord lies on the strand. 

1 At Sempach, on the battle-field, 
His bloody corpse lies there,' — 

1 Ah, gracious God ! ' the lady cried, 
4 What tidings of despair ! ' 

Now would you know the minstrel 
wight 

Who sings of strife so stern, 
Albert the Souter is he hight, 

A burgher of Lucerne. 160 

A merry man was he, I wot, 
The night he made the lay, 

Returning from the bloody spot 
Where God had judged the day. 



THE NOBLE xMORINGER 593 



THE NOBLE MORINGER 

AX ANCIENT BALLAD 

O, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day, 

It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay; 

He halsed and kissed his dearest dame that was as sweet as May, 

And said, ' Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say. 

' 'T is I have vowed a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine, 
And I must seek Saint Thomas-land and leave the land that 's mine ; 
Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt pledge thy fay 
That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths and a day.' 

Then out and spoke that lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer, 
4 Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here ; 10 
And who shall lead thy vassal band and hold thy lordly sway, 
And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art far away ? ' 

Out spoke the noble Moringer, ' Of that have thou no care, 
There 's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair ; 
The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals, and my state, 
And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely mate. 

* As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight, 
When I am far in foreign laud, remember thy true knight ; 
And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain w r ere sorrow now, 
But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard his vow.' 20 

It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him boune, 
And met him there his chamberlain with ewer and with gown : 
He flung the mantle on his back, 't was furred with miniver, 
He dipped his hand in water cold and bathed his forehead fair. 

4 Now hear,' he said, 4 Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine, 
And such the trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine, 
For seven years shalt thou rule my towers and lead my vassal train, 
And pledge thee for my lady's faith till I return again.' 

The chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he, 

4 Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me ; 30 

That woman's faith 's a brittle trust — Seven twelvemonths didst thou 

say? 
I '11 pledge me for no lady's truth beyond the seventh fair day.' 

The noble baron turned him round, his heart was full of care, 
His gallant esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir, « 
To whom he spoke right anxiously, 4 Thou trusty squire to me, 
Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea ? 

4 To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land, 
And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band ; 



6oo MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



And pledge thee for my lady's faith till seven long years are gone, 
And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John.' 4 o 

Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young, 
And readily he answer made with too presumptuous tongue : 
' My noble lord, cast care away and on your journey wend, 
And trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage have end. 

' Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried, 

To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals 

ride; 
And for your lovely lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear, 

I '11 gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year.' 

The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak, 

And doubt forsook his troubled brow and sorrow left his cheek ; 50 

A long adieu he bids to all — hoists topsails and away, 

And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths and a day. 

It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept, 
When on the baron's slumbering sense a boding vision crept ; 
And whispered in his ear a voice, 4 'T is time, Sir Knight, to wake, 
Thy lady and thy heritage another master take. 

' Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein, 

And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vassal train; 

And she, the lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair, 

This night within thy fathers' hall she weds Marstetten's heir.' 60 

It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, 
O, would that I had ne'er been born ! what tidings have I heard ! 
To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care, 
But, God ! that e'er a squire untrue should wed my lady fair. 

' O good Saint Thomas, hear,' he prayed, ' my patron saint art thou, 
A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow ! 
My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name, 
And I am far in foreign land and must endure the shame.' 

It was the good Saint Thomas then who heard his pilgrim's prayer. 
And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpowered his care ; 70 
He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretched beside a rill, 
High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. 

The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound, 
And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all around ; 

I I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know, 
Now blessed be my patron saint who cheered his pilgrim's woe ! » 

He leant upon his pilgrim staff and to the mill he drew, 

So altered was his goodly form that none their master knew ; 



THE NOBLE MORIXGER 601 



The baron to the miller said, ■ Good friend, for charity, 

Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may there be ? ' So 

The miller answered him again, ' He knew of little news, 
Save that the lady of the land did a new bridegroom choose ; 
Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant word, 
His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy lord. 

1 Of him I held the little mill which wins me living free, 

God rest the baron in his grave, he still was kind to me ! 

And when Saint Martin's tide comes round and millers take their toll, 

The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole.' 

It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began, 
And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man ; go 

' Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take, 
To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to break.' 

His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow, 

For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe ; 

And to the warder thus he spoke : ' Friend, to thy lady say, 

A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbor for a day. 

' I 've wandered many a weary step, my strength is well-nigh done, 
And if she turn me from her gate I '11 see no morrow's sun ; 
I pray for sweet Saint Thomas' sake a pilgrim's bed and dole, 
And for the sake of Moringer's her once-loved husband's soul.' 100 

It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before, 
' A pilgrim, worn and travel-toiled, stands at the castle-door; 
And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for harbor and for dole, 
And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's soul.' 

The lady's gentle heart was moved, ' Do up the gate,' she said, 
' And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed ; 
And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stay, 
These towers shall be his harborage a twelvemonth and a day.' 

It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad, 

It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode ; no 

4 And have thou thanks, kind Heaven,' he said, 4 though from a man of 

sin, 
That the true lord stands here once more his castle-gate within.' 

Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow ; 
It sat full heavy on his heart none seemed their lord to know ; 
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppressed with woe and wrong, 
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seemed little space so long. 

Now spent was day and feasting o'er, and come was eveniug hour. 
The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower ; 



602 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



* Our castle's wont,' a bridesman said, ' hath been both firm and long 
No guest to harbor in our halls till he shall chant a song.' 120 

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride, 

* My merry minstrel folk,' quoth he, ' lay shalm and harp aside ; 
Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold, 
And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold.' 

' Chill flows the lay of frozen age,' 't was thus the pilgrim sung, 

* Nor golden meed nor garment gay unlocks his heavy tongue ; 
Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine, 
And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine. 

1 But time traced furrows on my face and I grew silver-haired, i2g 

For locks of brown and cheeks of youth she left this brow and beard ; 
Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage, 
And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age.' 

It was the noble lady there this woful lay that hears, 

And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimmed with tears ; 

She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take, 

And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake. 

It was the noble Moringer that dropped amid the wine 

A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so fine : 

Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth, 

'T was with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth. 140 

Then to the cupbearer he said, * Do me one kindly deed, 
And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed ; 
Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay, 
And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer gray.' 

The cupbearer was courtly bred nor was the boon denied, 
The golden cup he took again and bore it to the bride ; 
1 Lady,' he said, ' your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray 
That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer gray.' 

The ring hath caught the lady's eye, she views it close and near, 
Then might you hear her shriek aloud, ' The Moringer is here ! ' 150 
Then might you see her start from seat while tears in torrents 

fell, 
But whether 't was for joy or woe the ladies best can tell. 

But loud she uttered thanks to Heaven and every saintly power 
That had returned the Moringer before the midnight hour ; 
And loud she uttered vow on vow that never was there bride 
That had like her preserved her troth or been so sorely tried. 

4 Yes, here I claim the praise,' she said, ' to constant matrons due, 
Who keep the troth that they have plight so steadfastly and true ; 



SONGS FROM THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR 603 

For count the term howe'er you will, so that you count aright, 159 
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night.' 

It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew, 

He kneeled before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw ; 

1 My oath and knightly faith are broke,' these were the words he said, 

' Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal's head.' 

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say, 

1 He gathers wisdom that hath roamed seven twelvemonths and a 

day; 
My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair, 
I give her for the bride you lose and name her for my heir. 

* The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the 

old, 
Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told ; 170 
But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate, 
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late.' 



EPITAPH ON MRS. ERSKINE 

Plain as her native dignity of 

mind, 
Arise the tomb of her we have re- 

signed ; 
Unflawed and stainless be the 

marble scroll, 
Emblem of lovely form and candid 

soul. — 
But, O, what symbol may avail to 

tell 
The kindness, wit, and sense we 

loved so well! 
What sculpture show the broken 

ties of life, 
Here buried with the parent, 

friend, and wife ! 
Or on the tablet stamp each title 

dear 
By which thine urn, Euphemia, 

claims the tear ! 
Yet taught by thy meek sufferance 

to assume 
Patience in anguish, hope beyond 

the tomb, 
Resigned, though sad, this votive 

verse shall flow, 
And brief, alas ! as thy brief span 

below. 



SONGS FROM THE BRIDE OF 
LAMMERMOOR 



LOOK NOT THOU ON BEAUTY'S 
CHARMING ' 

Look not thou on beauty's charm- 
ing; 

Sit thou still when kings are arm- 
ing; 

Taste not when the wine-cup glis- 
tens: 

Speak not when the people listens; 

Stop thine ear against the singer ; 

From the red gold keep thy finger ; 

Vacant heart and hand and eye, 

Easy live and quiet die. 



11 



' THE MONK MUST ARISE WHEN 
THE MATINS RING ' 

The monk must arise when the 
matins ring, 
The abbot may sleep to their 
chime ; 



604 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



But the yeoman must start when 
the bugles sing, 
'T is time, my hearts, 't is time. 

There's bucks and raes on Bill- 
hope braes, 
There's a herd on Shortwood 
Shaw ; 
But a lily-white doe in the garden 
goes, 
She 's fairly worth them a'. 

in 

4 WHEN THE LAST LAIRD OF 
RAVENSWOOD TO RAVENS- 
W r OOD SHALL RIDE' 

When the last Laird of Ravens- 
wood to Ravenswood shall 
ride, 

And woo a dead maiden to be his 
bride, 

He shall stable his steed in the 
Kelpie's flow, 

And his name shall be lost for. 
evermoe ! 



SONGS FROM THE LEGEND 
OF MONTROSE 



ANCIENT GAELIC MELODY 

Birds of omen dark and foul, 
Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl, 
Leave the sick man to his dream — 
All night long he heard you scream. 
Haste to cave and ruined tower, 
Ivy tod or dingled bower, 
There to wink and mop, for, hark ! 
In the mid air sings the lark. 

Hie to moorish gills and rocks, 
Prowling wolf and wily fox, — 
Hie ye fast, nor turn your view, 
Though the lamb bleats to the 

ewe. 
Couch your trains and speed your 

flight, 
Safety parts with parting night ; 



And on distant echo borne, 
Comes the hunter's early horn. 



The moon's wan crescent scarcely 

gleams, 
Ghost-like she fades in morning 

beams ; 
Hie hence, each peevish imp and 

fay 
That scare the pilgrim on his 

way.— 
Quench, kelpy! quench, in bog 

and fen, 
Thy torch that cheats benighted 

men ; 
Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is 

done, 
For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. 



Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, 

and deep, 
O'erpower the passive mind in 

sleep, 
Pass from the slumberer's soul 

away, 
Like night-mists from the brow of 

day: 
Foul hag, whose blasted visage 

grim 
Smothers the pulse, unnerves the 

limb, 
Spur thy dark palfrey and be- 
gone! 
Thou darest not face the godlike 

sun. 



ii 



THE ORPHAN MAID 

November's hail-cloud drifts 
away, 

November's sunbeam wan 
Looks coldly on the castle gray, 

When forth comes Lady Anne. 



The orphan by the oak was set, 
Her arms, her feet, were bare ; 



VERSES FROM IVANHOE 



605 



The hail-drops had not melted 


VERSES FROM IVANHOE 


yet 




Amid her raven hair. 


1 




THE CRUSADER'S RETURN 


' And, dame,' she said, ' by all the 




ties 


High deeds achieved of knightly 


That child and mother know, 


fame, 


Aid one who never knew these 


From Palestine the champion 


joys, - 


came; 


Relieve an orphan's woe.' 


The cross upon his shoulders 




borne, 


The lady said, ' An orphan's state 


Battle and blast had dimmed and 


Is hard and sad to bear ; 


torn. 


Yet worse the widowed mother's 


Each dint upon his battered shield 


fate, 


Was token of a foughten field ; 


Who mourns both lord and heir. 


And thus, beneath his lady's 




bower, 


' Twelve times the rolling year has 


He suog, as fell the twilight 


sped 


hour : 


Since, while from vengeance 




wild 


' Joy to the fair ! — thy knight be- 


Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled, 


hold, 


Forth' s eddies whelmed my 


Returned from yonder land of gold ; 


child.' 


No wealth he brings, nor wealth 




can need, 


1 Twelve times the year its course 


Save his good arms and battle- 


has borne,' 


steed; 


The wandering maid replied ; 


His spurs to dash against a foe, 


' Since fishers on Saint Bridget's 


His lance and sword to lay him 


morn 


low; 


Drew nets on Campsie side. 


Such all the trophies of his toil 




Such — and the hope of Tekla's 


1 Saint Bridget sent no scaly spoil ; 


smile ! 


An infant, well-nigh dead, 




They saved and reared in want 


' Joy to the fair ! whose constant 


and toil, 


knight 


To beg from you her bread.' 


Her favor fired to feats of might ! 




Unnoted shall she not remain 


That orphan maid the lady kissed, 


Where meet the bright and noble 


1 My husband's looks you bear ; 


train ; 


Saint Bridget and her morn be 


Minstrel shall sing, and herald 


blessed ! 


tell — 


You are his widow's heir.' 


" Mark yonder maid of beauty 

well, 
'T is she for whose bright eyes was 


They 've robed that maid, so poor 


and pale, 


won 


In silk and sandals rare ; 


The listed field at Ascalon ! 


And pearls, for drops of frozen 




hail, 


4 " Xote well her smile ! — it edged 


Are glistening in her hair. 


the blade 



6o6 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Which fifty wives to widows made, 


Your monarch ! — Pshaw ! many a 


When, vain his strength and Ma- 


prince has been known 


hound's spell, 


To barter his robes for our cowl 


Iconium's turbaned Soldan fell. 


and our gown, 


See'st thou her locks, whose sunny 


But which of us e'er felt the idle 


glow 


desire 


Half shows, half shades, her neck 


To exchange for a crown the gray 


of snow ? 


hood of a friar? 


Twines not of them one golden 




thread, 


The Friar has walked out, and 


But for its sake a Paynim bled." 


where'er he has gone 




The land and its fatness is marked 


' Joy to the fair ! — my name un- 


for his own ; 


known, 


He can roam where he lists, he can 


Each deed, and all its praise, thine 


stop where he tires, 


own; 


For every man's house is the Bare- 


Then, oh! unbar this churlish 


footed Friar's. 


gate, 




The night-dew falls, the hour is 


He 's expected at noon, and no 


late. 


wight till he comes 


Inured to Syria's glowing breath, 


May profane the great chair or the 


I feel the north breeze chill as 


porridge of plums ; 


death ; 


For the best of the cheer, and the 


Let grateful love quell maiden 


seat by the fire, 


shame, 


Is the undenied right of the Bare- 


And grant him bliss who brings 


footed Friar. 


thee fame.' 






He 's expected at night, and the 




pasty 's made hot, 


ii 


They broach the brown ale and 




they fill the black pot; 


THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR 


And the good-wife would wish the 




good-man in the mire, 


I 'll give thee, good fellow, a 


Ere he lacked a soft pillow, the 


twelvemonth or twain 


Barefooted Friar. 


To search Europe through from 




Byzantium to Spain ; 


Long flourish the sandal, the cord, 


But ne'er shall you find, should 


and the cope, 


you search till you tire, 


The dread of the devil and trust of 


So happy a man as the Barefooted 


the Pope ! 


Friar. 


For to gather life's roses, un- 




scathed by the briar, 


Your knight for his lady pricks 


Is granted alone to the Barefooted 


forth in career, 


Friar. 


And is brought home at even-song 




pricked through with a 


in 


spear ; 




I confess him in haste — for his 


1 NORMAN SAW ON ENGLISH OAK ' 


lady desires 




No comfort on earth save the 


Norman saw on English oak, 


Barefooted Friar's. 


On English neck a Norman yoke ; 



VERSES FROM IVANHOE 



607 



Norman spoon in English dish, 


Many a haughty step bends to 


And England ruled as Normans 


your halls, 


wish ; 


Many a helmed head. 


Blithe world in England never will 




be more, 




Till England "s rid of all the four. 


3 




Dark sits the evening upon the 


IV 


thane's castle, 




The black clouds gather round ; 


WAR-SONG 


Soon shall they be red as the blood 


1 


of the valiant ! 




The destroyer of forests shall shake 


Wfet the bright steel, 


his red crest against them ; 


Sons of the White Dragon ! 


He, the bright consumer of palaces, 


Kindle the torch, 


Broad waves he his blazing banner, 


Daughter of Hengist ! 


Red, white, and dusky, 


The steel glimmers not for the 


Over the strife of the valiant ; 


carving of the banquet, 


His joy is in the clashing swords 


It is hard, broad, and sharply 


and broken bucklers ; 


pointed ; 


He loves to lick the hissing blood 


The torch goeth not to the bridal 


as it bursts warm from the 


chamber, 


wound ! 


It steams and glitters blue with 




sulphur. 


4 


Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! 


Light the torch, Zernebock is yell- 


All must perish ! 


ing! 


The sword cleaveth the helmet ; 


Whet the steel, sons of the Dra- 


The strong armor is pierced by 


gon! 


the lance ; 


Kindle the torch, daughter of 


Fire devoureth the dwelling of 


Hengist ! 


princes, 




Engines break down the fences of 


- 


the battle. 


2 


All must perish ! 




The race of Hengist is gone — 


The black clouds are low over the 


The name of Horsa is no more ! 


thane's castle 


Shrink not then from your doom, 


The eagle screams — he rides on 


sons of the sword ! 


their bosom. 


Let your blades drink blood like 


Scream not, gray rider of the sable 


wine ; 


cloud, 


Feast ye in the banquet of slaugh- 


Thy banquet is prepared ! 


ter, 


The maidens of Valhalla look 


By the light of the blazing halls ! 


forth, 


Strong be your swords while your 


The race of Hengist will send them 


blood is warm, 


guests. 


And spare neither for pity nor 


Shake your black tresses, maidens 


fear, 


of Valhalla ! 


For vengeance hath but an hour ; 


And strike your loud timbrels for 


Strong hate itself shall expire ! 


joy! 


I also must perish. 



6o8 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



REBECCA'S HYMN 

When Israel of the Lord beloved 
Out from the land of bondage 
came, 
Her fathers' God before her 
moved, 
An awful guide in smoke and 
flame. 
By day, along the astonished lands 

The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 
Returned the fiery column's glow. 



There rose the choral hymn of 
praise, 
And trump and timbrel answered 
keen, 
And Zion's daughters poured their 
lays, 
With priest's and warrior's voice 
between. 
No portents now our foes amaze, 
Forsaken Israel wanders lone : 
Our fathers would not know Thy 
ways, 
And Thou hast left them to their 
own. 



But present still, though now un- 
seen, 
When brightly shines the pro- 
sperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy 
screen 
To temper the deceitful ray ! 
And O, when stoops on Judah's 
path 
In shade and storm the frequent 
night, 
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to 
wrath, 
A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel's 
streams, 



The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's 
scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams, 
And mute are timbrel, harp, and 
horn. 
But Thou hast said, The blood of 
goat, 
The flesh of rams I will not 
prize ; 
A contrite heart, a humble thought, 
Are mine accepted sacrifice. 



VI 



THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA 

Anna-Makie, love, up is the 
sun 

Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds 
singing free, 

Up in the morning, love, Anna- 
Marie. 

Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, 

The hunter is winding blithe 
sounds on his horn, 

The echo rings merry from rock 
and from tree, 

'Tis time to arouse thee, love, 
Anna-Marie. 



Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me 

not yet, 
Around my soft pillow while softer 

dreams flit ; 
For what are the joys that in wak- 
ing we prove, 
Compared with these visions, O 

Tybalt! my love? 
Let the birds to the rise of the 

mist carol shrill, 
Let the hunter blow out his loud 

horn on the hill, 
Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in 

slumber I prove, 
But think not I dreamed of thee, 

Tybalt, my love. 



VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY 



609 



VII 

ANOTHER CAROL BY THE SAME 

KNIGHT AND WAMBA 

There came three merry men 
from south, west, and north, 
Evermore sing the roundelay ; 
To win the Widow of Wycombe 
forth, 
And where was the widow might 
say them nay ? 

The first was a knight, and from 
Tynedale he came, 
Evermore sing the roundelay ; 
And his fathers, God save us, were 
men of great fame, 
And where was the widow might 
say him nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle 
the squire, 
He boasted in rhyme and in 
roundelay ; 
She bade him go bask by his sea- 
coal fire, 
For she was the widow would 
say him nay. 

WAMBA 

The next that came forth swore 
by blood and by nails, 
Merrily sing the roundelay ; 
Hur's a gentleman, God wot. and 
hur's lineage was of Wales, 
And where was the widow might 
say him nay ? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap 
Hugh 
Ap Tudor Ap Rhice, quoth his 
roundelay ; 
She said that one widow for so 
many was too few, 
And she bade the Welshman 
wend his way. 

But then next came a yeoman, a 
yeoman of Kent, 



Jollily singing his roundelay ; 
I He spoke to the widow of living 

and rent, 
And where was the widow could 

say him nay ? 

both 

So the knight and the squire were 
both left in the mire, 
There for to sing the roundelay ; 
For a yeoman of Kent, with his 
yearly rent, 
There ne'er was a widow could 
say him nay. 



VIII 
FUNERAL HYMN 

Dust unto dust, 
To this all must; 

The tenant hath resigned 
The faded form 
To waste and worm — 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown 

To seek the realms of woe, 
Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 

Of actions done below. 

In that sad place, 
By Mary's grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be ! 
Till prayers and alms, 
And holy psalms, 

Shall set the captive free. 



VERSES FROM THE MONAS 
TERY 



ANSWER TO INTRODUCTORY 
EPISTLE 

Take thou no scorn, 
Of fiction born, 



6io 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Fair fiction's muse to woo ; 

Old Homer's theme 

Was but a dream, 
Himself a fiction too. 



ii 



BORDER SONG 

1 

March, march, Ettrick and Te- 
viotdale, 
Why the deil dinna ye march 
forward in order ? 
March, march, Eskdale and Lid- 
desdale, 
All the Blue Bonnets are bound 
for the Border. 
Many a banner spread, 
Flutters above your head, 
Many a crest that is famous in 
story. 
Mount and make ready then, 
Sons of the mountain glen, 
Fight for the Queen and our old 
Scottish glory. 



Come from the hills where your 
hirsels are grazing, 
Come from the glen of the buck 
and the roe ; 
Come to the crag where the bea- 
con is blazing, 
Come with the buckler, the 
lance, and the bow. 
Trumpets are sounding, 
War-steeds are bounding, 
Stand to your arms and march 
in good order ; 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray, 
When the Blue Bonnets came 
over the Border. 



in 

SONGS OF THE WHITE LADY OF 
AVENEL 

FORDING THE RIVER 



Merrily swim we, the moon 

shines bright, 
Both current and ripple are dan- 
cing in light. 
We have roused the night raven, 

I heard him croak, 
As we plashed along beneath the 

oak 
That flings its broad branches so 

far and so wide, 
Their shadows are dancing in 

midst of the tide. 
4 Who wakens my nestlings ! ' the 

raven he said, 
'My beak shall ere morn in his 

blood be red ! 
For a blue swollen corpse is a 

dainty meal, 
And I '11 have my share with the 

pike and the eel.' 



Merrily swim we, the moon shines 
bright, 

There 's a golden gleam on the dis- 
tant height ; 

There 's a silver shower on the 
alders dank, 

And the drooping willows that 
wave on the bank. 

I see the Abbey, both turret and 
tower, 

It is all astir for the vesper hour ; 

The Monks for the chapel are leav- 
ing each cell, 

But where 's Father Philip should 
toll the bell? 



Merrily swim we, the moon shines 
bright, 



VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY 



611 



Downward we drift through 

shadow and light. 
Under yon rock the eddies sleep, 
Calm and silent, dark and deep. 
The Kelpy has risen from the 

fathomless pool, 
He has lighted his candle of death 

and of dool : 
Look, Father, look, and you '11 

laugh to see 
How he gapes and glares with his 

eyes on thee ! 



Good luck to your fishing, whom 

watch ye to-night? 
A man of mean or a man of might ? 
Is it layman or priest that must 

float in your cove, 
Or lover who crosses to visit his 

love? 
Hark! heard ye the Kelpy reply 

as we passed, 
* God's blessing on the warder, he 

locked the bridge fast ! 
All that come to my cove are 

sunk, 
Priest or layman, lover or monk.' 



Landed — landed! the black book 
hath won, 

Else had you seen Berwick with 
morning sun ! 

Sain ye, and save ye, and blithe 
mot ye be, 

For seldom they land that go swim- 
ming with me. 



IV 



TO THE SUB-PRIOR 

Good evening, Sir Priest, and so 

late as you ride, 
With your mule so fair, and your 

mantle so wide ; 
But ride you through valley, or 

ride you o'er hill, 



There is one that has warrant to 
wait on you still. 

Back, back, 

The volume black ! 
I have a warrant to carry it back. 

What, ho! Sub-Prior, and came 

you but here 
To conjure a book from a dead 

woman's bier? 
Sain you, and save you, be wary 

and wise, 
Ride back with the book, or you '11 

pay for your prize. 
Back, back, 

There 's death in the track ! 
In the name of my master, I bid 

thee bear back. 



That which is neither ill nor well, 
That which belongs not to heaven 

nor to hell, 
A wreath of the mist, a bubble of 

the stream, 
'Twixt a waking thought and a 
sleeping dream ; 
A form that men spy 
With the half-shut eye 
the beams of the setting sun, 
am I. 



thou 



In 



Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst 

bar me my right ! 
Like the star when it shoots, I can 

dart through the night ; 
I can dance on the torrent, 

ride on the air, 
And travel the world with 

bonny night-mare. 
Again, again, 
At the crook of the glen, 
Where bickers the burnie, 

meet thee again. 



and 



the 



I '11 



Men of good are bold as sackless, 
Men of rude are wild and reckless. 

Lie thou still 

In the nook of the hill, 
For those be before thee that wish 
thee ill. 



6l2 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



V 


Something that through thy wit 




or will 


HALBERT'S INCANTATION 


May work thee good— may work 




thee ill. 


Thrice to the holly brake — 


Neither substance quite, nor 


Thrice to the well : — 


shadow, 


I bid thee awake, 


Haunting lonely moor and mea- 


White Maid of Avenel! 


dow, 




Dancing by the haunted spring, 




Riding on the whirlwind's wing ; 


Noon gleams on the Lake — 


Aping in fantastic fashion 


Noon glows on the Fell — 


Every change of human pas- 


Wake thee, wake, 


sion, 


White Maid of Avenel. 


While o'er our frozen minds they 




pass, 




Like shadows from the mirrored 




glass. 


VI 


Wayward, fickle, is our mood, 




Hovering betwixt bad and good, 


TO HALBEBT 


Happier than brief-dated man, 




Living twenty times his span , 


THE WHITE MAID OF AVENEL 


Far less happy, for we have 




Help nor hope beyond the grave ! 


Youth of the dark eye, wherefore 


Man awakes to joy or sorrow ; 


didst thou call rne ? 


Ours the sleep that knows no 


Wherefore art thou here, if terrors 


morrow. 


can appall thee? 


This is all that I can show — 


He that seeks to deal with us 


This is all that thou may'st 


must know nor fear nor fail- 
ing; 


know. 


To coward and churl our speech 




is dark, our gifts are unavail- 


Ay ! and I taught thee the word 


ing. 


and the spell 


The breeze that brought me hither 


To waken me here by the Fairies' 


now must sweep Egyptian 


Well 


ground, 


But thou hast loved the heron and 


The fleecy cloud on which I ride 


hawk, 


for Araby is bound ; 


More than to seek my haunted 


The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the 


walk; 


breeze sighs for my stay, 


And thou hast loved the lance and 


For I must sail a thousand miles 


the sword, 


before the close of day. 


More than good text and holy 




word ; 




And thou hast loved the deer to 


What I am I must not show — 


track, 


What I am thou couldst not 


More than the lines and the letters 


know — 


black ; 


Something betwixt heaven and 


And thou art a ranger of moss and 


hell — 


wood, 


Something that neither stood nor 


And scornest the nurture of gentle 


fell — 


blood. 



VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY 



6i3 



Thy craven fear my truth ac- 
cused, 

Thine idlehood my trust abused ; 

He that draws to harbor late, 

Must sleep without, or burst the 
gate, 

There is a star for thee which 
burned, 

Its influence wanes, its course is 
turned ; 

Valor and constancy alone 

Can bring thee back the chance 
that 's flown. 



Within that awful volume lies 
The mystery of mysteries ! 
Happiest they of human race, 
To whom God has granted grace 
To read, to fear, to hope, to 

pray, 
To lift the latch, and force the 

way; 
And better had they ne'er been 

born, 
Who read to doubt, or read to 

scorn. 



Many a fathom dark and deep 
I have laid the book to sleep ; 
Ethereal fires around it glow- 
ing- 
Ethereal music ever flowing — 
The sacred pledge of Heaven 
All things revere, 
Each in his sphere, 
Save man for whom 't was 
given : 
Lend thy hand, and thou shalt 

spy 
Things ne'er seen by mortal eye. 



Fearest thou to go with me ? 
Still it is free to thee 

A peasant to dwell ; 
Thou may'st drive the dull steer, 
And chase the king's deer 
But nevermore come near 

This haunted well. 



Here lies the volume thou hast 

boldly sought ; 
Touch it, and take it, 'twill dearly 

be bought. 



Rash thy deed, 
Mortal weed 
To immortal flames applying ; 
Rasher trust 
Has thing of dust, 
On his own weak worth re 
lying : 
Strip thee of such fences vain, 
Strip, and prove thy luck again. 



Mortal warp and mortal woof 
Cannot brook this charmed roof ; 
All that mortal art hath wrought 
In our cell returns to nought. 
The molten gold returns to clay, 
The polished diamond melts 

away; 
All is altered, all is flown, 
Nought stands fast but truth 

alone. 
Not for that thy quest give o'er : 
Courage ! prove thy chance once 

more. 



Alas ! alas ! 

Not ours the grace 

These holy characters to trace : 
Idle forms of painted air, 
Not to us is given to share 

The boon bestowed on Adam's 
race. 
With patience bide, 
Heaven will provide 
The fitting time, the fitting guide. 



VII 
TO THE SAME 

This is the day when the fairy 
kind 

Sit weeping alone for their hope- 
less lot, 



614 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



And the wood-maiden sighs to the 
sighing wind, 

And the mermaiden weeps in her 
crystal grot ; 

For this is a day that the deed was 
wrought, 

In which we have neither part nor 
share, 

For the children of clay was salva- 
tion bought, 

But not for the forms of sea or 
air! 

And ever the mortal is most for- 
lorn, 

Who meeteth our race on the Fri- 
day morn. 



Daring youth ! for thee it is 

well, 
Here calling me in haunted 

dell, 
That thy heart has not quailed, 
Nor thy courage failed, 
And that thou couldst brook 
The angry look 
Of Her of Avenel. 
Did one limb shiver, 
Or an eyelid quiver, 
Thou wert lost forever. 
Though I am form'd from the 

ether blue, 
And my blood is of the unfallen 

dew, 
And thou art framed of mud and 

dust, 
'T is thine to speak, reply I must. 



A mightier wizard far than I 

Wields o'er the universe his 
power ; 

Him owns the eagle in the 
sky, 

The turtle in the bower. 

Changeful in shape, yet mighti- 
est still, 

He wields the heart of man at 
will, 



From ill to good, from good to 

ill, 
In cot and castle-tower. 
Ask thy heart, whose secret 

cell 
Is filled with Mary Avenel ! 
Ask thy pride, why scornful 

look 
In Mary's view it will not- 

brook ? 
Ask it, why thou seek'st to rise 
Among the mighty and the 

wise, — 
Why thou spurn'st thy lowly 

lot,— 
Why thy pastimes are for- 
got,— 
Why thou wouldst in bloody 

strife 
Mend thy luck or lose thy life ? 
Ask thy heart, and it shall 

tell, 
Sighing from its secret cell, 
'T is for Mary Avenel. 
Do not ask me ; 
On doubts like these thou 

canst not task me. 
We only see the passing show 
Of human passions' ebb and 

flow; 
And view the pageant's idle 

glance 
As mortals eye the northern 

dance, 
When thousand streamers, 

flashing bright, 
Career it o'er the brow of 

night, 
And gazers mark their change- 
ful gleams, 
But feel no influence from 

their beams. 



By ties mysterious linked, our 

fated race 
Holds strange connection with the 

sons of men. 
The star that rose upon the House 

of Avenel, 



VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY 



6i5 



"When Norman Ulric first assumed 
the name, 

That star, when culminating in its 
orbit, 

Shot from its spear a drop of dia- 
mond dew, 

And this bright font received it— 
and a Spirit 

Rose from the fountain, and her 
date of life 

Hath coexistence with the House 
of Avenel, 

And with the star that rules it. 



Look on my girdle— on this thread 

of gold — 
•T is fine as web of lightest gossa- 
mer, 
And, but there is a spell on 't, 

would not bind, 
Light as they are, the folds of my 

thin robe. 
But when 't was donned, it was a 

massive chain, 
Such as might bind the champion 

of the Jews, 
Even when his locks were longest 

— it hath dwindled, 
Hath 'minished in its substance 

and its strength, 
As sunk the greatness of the 

House of Avenel. 
When this frail thread gives way, 

I to the elements 
Resign the principles of life they 

lent me. 
Ask me no more of this ! — the 

stars forbid it. 
Dim burns the once bright star of 

Avenel, 
Dim as the beacon when the morn 

is nigh, 
And the o'er-wearied warder leaves 

the lighthouse : 
There is an influence sorrowful 

and fearful, 
That dogs its downward course. 

Disastrous passion, 



Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the 

aspect 
That lowers upon its fortunes. 



Complaix not on me, child of 

clay, 
If to thy harm I yield the way. 
We, who soar thy sphere above, 
Know not aught of hate or love ; 
As will or wisdom rules thy 

mood, 
My gifts to evil turn or good. 
When Piercie Shafton boasteth 

high, 
Let this token meet his eye. 
The sun is westering from the 

dell, 
Thy wish is granted — fare thee 

well ! 



VIII 
TO THE SAME 

He, whose heart for vengeance 

sued, 
Must not shrink from shedding 

blood ; 
The knot that thou hast tied with 

word, 
Thou must loose by edge of sword. 



You have summoned me once, you 

have summoned me twice, 
And without e'er a summons 1 

come to you thrice ; 
Unasked for, unsued for, you came 

to my glen, 
Unsued and unasked, I am with 

you again. 



IX 
TO MARY AVENEL 

Ma id ex, whose sorrows wail the 
Living Dead, 
Whose eyes shall commune with 
the Dead Alive, 



6i6 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Maiden, attend ! Beneath my foot 
lies hid 
The Word, the Law, the Path 
which thou dost strive 
To find, and canst not find. Could 
Spirits shed 
Tears for their lot, it were my 
lot to weep, 
Showing the road which I shall 
never tread, 
Though my foot points it. Sleep, 
eternal sleep 
Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness 
my lot ! 
But do not thou at human ills 
repine ; 
Secure there lies full guerdon in 
this spot 
For all the woes that wait frail 
Adam's line — 
Stoop then and make it yours,— 
I may not make it mine ! 



TO EDWARD GLENDINNING 

Thou who seek'st my fountain 

lone, 
With thoughts and hopes thou 

dar'st not own ; 
Whose heart within leaped wildly 

glad, 
When most his brow seemed dark 

and sad ; 
Hie thee back, thou find'st not 

here 
Corpse or coffin, grave or bier ; 
The Dead Alive is gone and fled : 
Go thou and join the Living 

Dead! 

The Living Dead, whose sober 
brow 

Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou 
hast now 

Whose hearts within are seldom 
cured 

Of passions by their vows ab- 
jured ; 



Where, under sad and solemn 

show, 
Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes 

glow. 
Seek the convent's vaulted room, 
Prayer and vigil be thy doom ; 
Doff the green, and don the grey, 
To the cloister hence away ! 



XI 



THE WHITE LADY'S FAREWELL 

Fare thee well, thou Holly green ! 
Thou shalt seldom now be seen, 
With all thy glittering garlands 

bending, 
As to greet my slow descend- 
ing, 
Startling the bewildered hind, 
Who sees thee wave without a 
wind. 

Farewell, Fountain ! now not long 
Shalt thou murmur to my song. 
While thy crystal bubbles glan- 
cing, 
Keep the time in mystic dan- 
cing, 
Rise and swell, are burst and lost, 
Like mortal schemes by fortune 
crossed. 

The knot of fate at length is tied, 
The Churl is Lord, the Maid is 

Bride ! 
Vainly did my magic sleight 
Send the lover from her sight ; 
Wither bush, and perish well, 
Fallen is lofty Avenel ! 



GOLDTHRED'S SONG 
FROM KENIL WORTH 

Of all the birds on bush or 
tree, 
Commend me to the owl, 



VERSES FROM THE PIRATE 



617 



Since he may best ensample be 
To those the cup that trowl. 
For when the sun hath left the 

west, 
He chooses the tree that he loves 

the best, 
And he whoops out his song, and 

he laughs at his jest ; 
Then though hours be late, and 

weather foul, 
We '11 drink to the health of the 

bonny, bonny owl. 



The lark is but a bumpkin fowl, 
He sleeps in his nest till 
morn ; 
But my blessing upon the jolly 
owl, 
That all night blows his horn. 
Then up with your cup till you 

stagger in speech, 
And match me this catch though 

you swagger and screech, 
And drink till you wink, my merry 

men each ; 
For though hours be late, and 

weather be foul, 
"We '11 drink to the health of the 
bonny, bonny owl. 



VERSES FROM THE PIRATE 
1 

THE SONG of the tempest 

Stern eagle of the far north- 
west, 

Thou that bearest in thy grasp the 
thunderbolt, 

Thou whose rushing pinions stir 
ocean to madness, 

Thou the destroyer of herds, thou 
the scatterer of navies, 

Thou the breaker down of tow- 
ers, 

Amidst the scream of thy rage, 



Amidst the rushing of thy onward 
wings, 

Though thy scream be loud as the 
cry of a perishing nation, 

Though the rushing of thy wings 
be like the roar of ten thou- 
sand waves, 

Yet hear, in thine ire and thy 
haste, 

Hear thou the voice of the Reini- 
kenuar. 



Thou hast met the pine-trees of 

Drontheim, 
Their dark-green heads lie pros- 
trate beside their uprooted 

stems ; 
Thou hast met the rider of the 

ocean, 
The tall, the strong bark of the 

fearless rover, 
And she has struck to thee the 

topsail 
That she had not veiled to a royal 

armada ; 
Thou hast met the tower that 

bears its crest among the 

clouds, 
The battled massive tower of the 

Jarl of former days, 
And the copestone of the turret 
Is lying upon its hospitable 

hearth ; 
But thou too shalt stoop, proud 

compeller of clouds, 
When thou hearest the voice of 

the Reim-kennar. 



There are verses that can stop the 

stag in the forest, 
Ay, and when the dark-colored dog 

is opening on his track ; 
There are verses can make the 

wild hawk pause on his wing, 
Like the falcon that wears the 

hood and the jesses, 
And who knows the shrill whistle 

of the fowler. 



6i8 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Thou who canst mock at the 
scream of the drowning mar- 
iner, 

And the crash of the ravaged 
forest, 

And the groan of the overwhelmed 
crowds, 

When the church hath fallen in 
the moment of prayer ; 

There are sounds which thou also 
must list, 

When they are chanted by the 
voice of the Reim-kennar. 



Enough of woe hast thou wrought 
on the ocean, 

The widows wring their hands on 
the beach ; 

Enough of woe hast thou wrought 
on the land, 

The husbandman folds his arms 
in despair ; 

Cease thou the waving of thy pin- 
ions, 

Let the ocean repose in her dark 
strength ; 

Cease thou the flashing of thine 
eye, 

Let the thunderbolt sleep in the 
armory of Odin ; 

Be thou still at my bidding, view- 
less racer of the northwestern 
heaven, — 

Sleep thou at the voice of Noma 
the Reiru-kennar. 



Eagle of the far northwestern wa- 
ters, 

Thou hast heard the voice of the 
Reim-kennar\ 

Thou hast closed thy wide sails at 
her bidding, 

And folded them in peace by thy 
side. 

My blessing be on thy retiring 
path; 



When thou stoopest from thy 
place on high, 

Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns 
of the unknown ocean, 

Rest till destiny shall again 
awaken thee ; 

Eagle of the northwest, thou hast 
heard the voice of the Reim- 
kennar. 



n 



HALCRO'S SONG 

Farewell to Northmaven, 

Grey Hillswicke, farewell ! 
To the calms of thy haven, 

The storms on thy fell — 
To each breeze that can vary 

The mood of thy main, 
And to thee, bonny Mary ! 

We meet not again ! 

Farewell the wild ferry, 

Which Hacon could brave 
When the peaks of the Skerry 

Were white in the wave. 
There 's a maid may look over 

These wild waves in vain 
For the skiff of her lover — 

He comes not again ! 

The vows thou hast broke, 

On the wild currents fling them 
On the quicksand and rock 

Let the mermaiden sing them : 
New sweetness they '11 give her 

Bewildering strain ; 
But there 's one who will never 

Believe them again. 

0, were there an island, 

Though ever so wild, 
Where woman could smile, and 

No man be beguiled — 
Too tempting a snare 

To poor mortals were given ; 
And the hope would fix there 

That should anchor on heaven. 



VERSES FROM THE PIRATE 



619 



in 

SONG OF HAROLD HARFAGER 

The sun is rising dimly red, 
The wind is wailing low and 

dread ; 
From his cliff the eagle sallies, 
Leaves the wolf his darksome 

valleys ; 
In the mist the ravens hover, 
Peep the wild dogs from the 

cover, 
Screaming, croaking, baying, yell- 
ing, 
Each in his wild accents telling, 
' Soon we feast on dead and dy- 
ing, 
Fair-haired Harold's flag is flying.' 

Many a crest in air is streaming, 
Many a helmet darkly gleaming, 
Many an arm the axe uprears, 
Doomed to hew the wood of 

spears. 
All along the crowded ranks, 
Horses neigh and armor clanks; 
Chiefs are shouting, clarions ring- 
ing, 
Louder still the bard is singing, 
'Gather, footmen; gather, horse- 
men, 
To the field, ye valiant Norse- 
men! 

4 Halt ye not for food or slumber, 
View not vantage, count not num- 
ber; 
Jolly reapers, forward still, 
Grow the crop on vale or hill, 
Thick or scattered, stiff or lithe, 
It shall down before the scythe. 
Forward with your sickles bright, 
Reap the harvest of the fight. 
Onward footmen, onward horse- 
men, 
To the charge, ye gallant Norse- 
men! 

1 Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, 
O'er you hovers Odin's daughter ; 



Hear the choice she spreads be- 
fore ye — 

Victory, and wealth, and glory ; 

Or old Valhalla's roaring hail, 

Her ever-circling mead and ale, 

Where for eternity unite 

The joys of wassail and of fight. 

Headlong forward, foot and horse- 
men, 

Charge and fight, and die like 
Norsemen ! ' 



IV 



SONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND 
MERMEN 

MERMAID 

Fathoms deep beneath the wave, 

Stringing beads of glistering 
pearl, 
Singing the achievements brave 

Of many an old Norwegian earl; 
Dwelling where the tempest's rav- 
ing 

Falls as light upon our ear, 
As the sigh of lover, craving 

Pity from his lady dear, 
Children of wild Thule, we, 
From the deep caves of the sea, 
As the lark springs from the 

lea, 
Hither come, to share your glee. 

MERMAN 

From reining of the water-horse, 
That bounded till the waves 
were foaming, 
Watching the infant tempest's 
course, 
Chasing the sea-snake in his 
roaming ; 
From winding charge-notes on the 
shell, 
When the huge whale and 
sword-fish duel, 
Or tolling shroudless seamen's 
knell, 
When the winds and waves are 
cruel ; 



620 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Children of wild Thule, we 

Have ploughed such furrows on 

the sea, 
As the steer draws on the lea, 
And hither we come to share your 

glee. 



MERMAIDS AND MERMEN 

We heard you in our twilight 

caves, 
A hundred fathom deep below 
For notes of joy can pierce the 

waves, 
That drown each sound of war 

and woe. 
Those who dwell beneath the sea 

Love the sons of Thule well ; 
Thus, to aid your mirth, bring 

we 
Dance and song and sounding 

shell. 
Children of the dark Thule, know T , 
Those who dwell by haaf and 

voe, 
Where your daring shallops row, 
Come to share the festal show. 



NORNA'S YERSES 

For leagues along the watery 
way, 
Through gulf and stream my 
course has been ; 
The billows know my Runic lay, 
And smooth their crests to silent 
green. 

The billows know my Runic lay, 
The gulf grows smooth, the 
stream is still ; 
But human hearts, more wild than 
they, 
Know but the rule of wayward 
will. 

One hour is mine, in all the year, 
To tell my woes, and one alone ; 



When gleams this magic lamp, 
't is here, 
When dies the mystic light, 't is 
gone. 

Daughters of northern Magnus, 
hail! 
The lamp is lit, the flame is 
clear ; 
To you I come to tell my tale, 
Awake, arise, my tale to hear ! 



Dwellers of the mountain, rise, 
Trolld the powerful, Haims the 

wise ! 
Ye who taught weak woman's 

tongue 
Words that sway the wise and 

strong, — 
Ye who taught weak woman's 

hand 
How to wield the magic wand, 
And wake the gales on Foulah's 

steep, 
Or lull wild Sumburgh's waves to 

sleep ! 
Still are ye yet? Not yours the 

power 
Ye knew in Odin's mightier hour. 
What are ye now but empty 

names, 
Powerful Trolld, sagacious Haims, 
That, lightly spoken, and lightly 

heard, 
Float on the air like thistle's 

beard ? 



A thousand winters dark have 

flown, 
Since o'er the threshold of my 

stone 
A votaress passed, my power to 

own. 
Visitor bold 
Of the mansion of Trolld, 

Maiden haughty of heart, 
Who hast hither presumed, 
Ungifted, undoomed, 



VERSES FROM THE PIRATE 



621 



Thou shalt not depart. 
The power thou dost covet 

O'er tempest and wave, 
Shall be thine, thou proud maid- 
en, 
By beach and by cave. — 
By stack, and by skerry, by noup, 

and by voe, 
By air, and by wick, and by helyer 

and gio, 
And by every wild shore which the 
northern winds know, 
And the northern tides lave. 
But though this shall be given 
thee, thou desperately brave, 
I doom thee that never the gift 
thou shalt have, 
Till thou reave thy life's giver 
Of the gift which he gave. 



Dark are thy words, and severe, 

Thou dweller in stone ; 
But trembling and fear 

To her are unknown, 
Who hath sought thee here, 

In thy dwelling lone. 
Comes what comes soever, 

The worst I can endure ; 
Life is but a short fever, 

And Death is the cure. 



VI 



HALCRO AND XORNA 
CLAUD HALCRO 

Mother darksome, Mother 

dread, 
Dweller on the Fitful-head, 
Thou canst see what deeds are 

done 
Under the never-setting sun. 
Look through sleet, and look 

through frost, 
Look to Greenland's caves and 

coast, — 
By the iceberg is a sail 
Chasing of the swarthy whale ; 



Mother doubtful, Mother dread, 
Tell us, has the good ship sped ? 

NOBNA 

The thought of the aged is ever on 

gear, 
On his fishing, his furrow, his 

flock, and his steer ; 
But thrive may his fishing, flock, 

furrow, and herd, 
While the aged for anguish shall 

tear his gray beard. 

The ship, well-laden as bark need 

be, 
Lies deep in the furrow of the Ice- 
land sea ; 
The breeze from Zetland blows 

fair and soft, 
And gaily the garland is fluttering 

aloft ; 
Seven good fishes have spouted 

their last, 
And their jaw-bones are hanging 

to yard and mast : 
Two are for Lerwick, and two for 

Kirkwall, 
And three for Burgh- Westra, the 

choicest of all. 

CLAUD HALCRO 

Mother doubtful, Mother dread, 

Dweller of the Fitful-head, 

Thou hast conned full many a 

rhyme, 
That lives upon the surge of time : 
Tell me, shall my lays be sung, 
Like Hacon's of the golden tongue, 
Long after Halcro 's dead and 

gone? 
Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own 
One note to rival glorious John ? 

NORNA 

The infant loves the rattle's noise ; 
Age, double childhood, hath its 

toys; 
But different far the descant rings, 
As strikes a different hand the 

strings. 



622 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



The eagle mounts the polar sky : 
The Imber-goose, unskilled to fly, 
Must be content to glide along, 
Where seal and sea-dog list his 
song. 

CLAUD HALCRO 

Be mine the Imber-goose to play, 

And haunt lone cave and silent 
bay; 

The archer's aim so shall I shun ; 

So shall I 'scape the levelled gun ; 

Content my verses' tuneless jin- 
gle, 

With Thule's sounding tides to 
mingle, 

While, to the ear of wondering 
wight, 

Upon the distant headland's 
height, 

Softened by murmur of the sea, 

The rude sounds seem like har- 
mony! 

Mother doubtful, Mother dread, 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 
A gallant bark from far abroad, 
Saint Magnus hath her in his road, 
With guns and firelocks not a 

few; 
A silken and a scarlet crew, 
Deep stored with precious mer- 
chandise, 
Of gold, and goods of rare device : 
What interest hath our comrade 

bold 
In bark and crew, in goods and 
gold? 

NORNA 

Gold is ruddy, fair, and free, 
Blood is crimson, and dark to 

see; 
I looked out on Saint Magnus 

bay, 
And I saw a falcon that struck 

her prey ; 
A gobbet of flesh in her beak she 

bore, 
And talons and singles are drip- 

ing with gore ; 



Let him that asks after them look 

on his hand, 
And if there is blood on't, he's 

one of their band. 

CLAUD HALCRO 

Mother doubtful, Mother dread, 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 
Well thou know'st it is thy task 
To tell what Beauty will not 

ask; 
Then steep thy words in wine and 

milk, 
And weave a doom of gold and 

silk; 
For we would know, shall Brenda 

prove 
In love, and happy in her love ? 

NORNA 

Untouched by love, the maiden's 

breast 
Is like the snow on Rona's crest, 
High seated in the middle sky, 
In bright and barren purity ; 
But by the sunbeam gently kissed, 
Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis 

missed, 
Ere, down the lonely valley steal. 

ing, 
Fresh grass and growth its course 

revealing, 
It cheers the flock, revives the 

flower, 
And decks some happy shepherd's 

bower. 

MAGNUS TROIL 

Mother, speak, and do not tarry, 
Here 's a maiden fain would 

marry. 
Shall she marry, ay or not? 
If she marry, what 's her lot? 

NORNA 

Untouched by love, the maiden's 

breast 
Is like the snow on Rona's crest ; 
So pure, so free from earthly dye, 
It seems, whilst leaning on the 

sky, 



VERSES FROM THE PIRATE 



623 



Part of the heaven to which 't is 

nigh; 
But passion, like the wild March 

rain, 
May soil the wreath with many a 

stain. 
We gaze — the lovely vision 's 

gone: 
A torrent fills the bed of stone, 
That, hurrying to destruction's 

shock, 
Leaps headlong from the lofty 

rock. 



VII 
THE FISHERMEN'S SONG 

Farewell, merry maidens, to 
song and to laugh, 

For the brave lads of Westra are 
bound to the Haaf ; 

And we must have labor, and hun- 
ger, and pain, 

Ere we dance with the maids of 
Dunrossness again. 

For now, in our trim boats of Noro- 

way deal, 
We must dance on the waves, with 

the porpoise and seal ; 
The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe 

not too high, 
And the gull be our songstress 

whene'er she flits by. 

Sing on, my brave bird, while we 

follow, like thee, 
By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the 

swarms of the sea ; 
And when twenty-score fishes are 

straining our line, 
Sing louder, brave bird, for their 

spoils shall be thine. 

We '11 sing while we bait, and we '11 

sing when we haul, 
For the deeps of the Haaf have 

enough for us all \ 



There is torsk for the gentle, and 
skate for the carle, 

And there 's wealth for bold Mag- 
nus, the son of the earl. 

Huzza ! my brave comrades, give 

way for the Haaf, 
We shall sooner come back to the 

dance and the laugh ; 
For life without mirth is a lamp 

without oil ; 
Then, mirth and long life to the 

bold Magnus Troil I 

VIII 
CLEVELAND'S SONGS 

Love wakes and weeps 

While beauty sleeps : 
0, for Music's softest numbers, 

To prompt a theme 

For Beauty's dream, 
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers. 

Through groves of palm 

Sigh gales of balm, 
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; 

While through the gloom 

Comes soft perfume, 
The distant beds of flowers re- 
vealing. 

wake and live ! 
No dream can give 
A shadowed bliss, the real excel- 
ling ; 
No longer sleep, 
From lattice peep, 
And list the tale that Love is tell- 
ing. 



Farewell ! farewell ! the voice 
you hear, 
Has left its last soft tone with 
you, — 
Its next must join the seaward 
cheer, 
And shout among the shouting 
crew. 



624 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



The accents which I scarce could 
form 
Beneath your frown's controlling 
check 
Must give the word, above the 
storm, 
To cut the mast and clear the 
wreck. 

The timid eye I dared not raise, — 
The hand, that shook wiien 
pressed to thine, 
Must point the guns upon the 
chase — 
Must hid the deadly cutlass 
shine. 

To all I love, or hope, or fear, — 
Honor or own, a long adieu ! 

To all that life has soft and dear, 
Farewell ! save memory of you ! 



IX 
HALCRO'S VERSES 

And you shall deal the funeral 
dole; 

Ay, deal it, mother mine, 
To weary body and to heavy soul, 

The white bread and the wine. 

And you shall deal my horses of 
pride ; 
Ay, deal them, mother mine ; 
And you shall deal my lands so 
wide, 
And deal my castles nine ; 

But deal not vengeance for the 
deed, 
And deal not for the crime ; 
The body to its place, and the soul 
to Heaven's grace, 
And the rest in God's own time. 



If 



If 



If 



By the mass of Saint Martin, the 

might of Saint Mary, 
Be thou gone, or thy weird shall 

be worse if thou tarry ! 
of good, go hence and hallow 

thee ; 
of ill, let the earth swallow 

thee ; — 
thou 'rt of air, let the grey mist 

fold thee ; 
If of earth, let the swart mine hold 

thee; 
If a Pixie, seek thy ring ; 
If a Nixie, seek thy spring ; 
If on middle earth thou'st been 
Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin, 
Hast ate the bread of toil and 

strife, 
And dree'd the lot which men call 

life; 
Begone to thy stone ! for thy coffin 

is scant of thee, 
The worm, thy playfellow, wails 

for the want of thee : 
Hence, houseless ghost! let the 

earth hide thee, 
Till Michael shall blow the blast, 

see that there thou bide thee i 
Phantom, fly hence ! take the Cross 

for a token, 
Hence pass till Hallowmass ! — 

my spell is spoken. 



Saint Magnus control thee, that 

martyr of treason ; 
Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with 

rhyme and with reason ; 



Where corpse-light 
Dances bright, 
Be it by day or night, 
Be it by light or dark, 
There shall corpse lie stiff and 
stark. 



Menseful maiden ne'er should 

rise, 
Till the first beam tinge the skies ; 
Silk-fringed eyelids still should 

close, 
Till the sun has kissed the rose ; 
Maiden's foot we should not view, 



VERSES FROM THE PIRATE 



625 



Marked with tiny print on dew, 
Till the opening flowerets spread 
Carpet meet for beauty's tread. 



NORXA'S IXCAXTATIONS 

Champion, famed for warlike toil, 
Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil? 
Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, 
Are leaving bare thy giant bones. 
Who dared touch the wild bear's 

skin 
Ye slumbered on, while life was 

in? 
A woman now, or babe, may come 
And cast the covering from thy 

tomb. 

Yet he not wrathful, Chief, nor 

blight 
Mine eyes or ears with sound or 

sight ! 
I come not with unhallowed tread, 
To wake the slumbers of the dead, 
Or lay thy giant relics bare ; 
But what I seek thou well canst 

spare. 
Be it to my hand allowed 
To shear a merk's weight from thy 

shroud ; 
Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough 
To shield thy bones from weather 

rough. 
See, I draw my magic knife : 
Never while thou wert in life 
Laidst thou still for sloth or fear, 
When point and edge were glitter- 
ing near : 
See, the cerements now I sever : 
Waken now, or sleep forever ! 
Thou wilt not wake : the deed is 

done ! 
The prize I sought is fairly won. 

Thanks, Ribolt, thanks, — for this 

the sea 
Shall smooth its ruffled crest for 

thee, 



And while afar its billows foam, 
Subside to peace near Ribolt's 

tomb. 
Thanks, Ribolt, thanks —for this 

the might 
Of wild winds raging at their 

height, 
When to thy place of slumber 

nigh, 
Shall soften to a lullaby. 

She, the dame of doubt and dread, 
Noma of the Fitful-head, 
Mighty in her own despite, 
Miserable in her might ; 
In despair and frenzy great, 
In her greatness desolate ; 
Wisest, wickedest who lives, 
Well can keep the word she gives. 



XI 



THE SAME, AT THE MEETING 
WITH MINNA 

Thou, so needful, yet so dread, 

With cloudy crest, and wing of 
red; 

Thou, without whose genial breath 

The North would sleep the sleep 
of death ; 

Who deign'st to warm the cottage 
hearth, 

Yet hurls proud palaces to earth ; 

Brightest, keenest of the Pow- 
ers, 

Which form and rule this world of 
ours, 

With my rhyme of Runic, I 

Thank thee for thy agency. 



Old Reim-kennar, to thy art 
Mother Hertha sends her part ; 
She, whose gracious bounty gives 
Needful food for all that lives. 
From the deep mine of the North 
Came the mystic metal forth, 
Doomed amidst disjointed stones 
Long to cere a champion's bones, 



626 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Disinhumed my charms to aid : 
Mother Earth, my thanks are paid. 



Girdle of our islands dear, 
Element of Water, hear ! 
Thou whose power can overwhelm 
Broken mounds and ruined realm 

On the lowly Belgian strand ; 
All thy fiercest rage can never 
Of our soil a furlong sever 

From our rock-defended land ; 
Play then gently thou thy part, 
To assist old Noma's art. 



Elements, each other greeting, 
Gifts and powers attend your 
meeting ! 



Thou, that over billows dark 
Safely send'st the fisher's bark : 
Giving him a path and motion 
Through the wilderness of ocean ; 
Thou, that when the billows brave 

ye, 

O'er the shelves canst drive the 

navy: 
Did'st thou chafe as one neglected, 
While thy brethren were re- 
spected ? 
To appease thee, see, I tear 
This full grasp of grizzled hair ; 
Oft thy breath hath through it 

sung, 
Softening to my magic tongue ; 
Now, 't is thine to bid it fly 
Through the wide expanse of sky, 
'Mid the countless swarms to sail 
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale ; 
Take thy portion and rejoice : 
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice ! 



She who sits by haunted well, 
Is subject to the Nixie's spell ; 
She who walks on lonely beach, 
To the Mermaid's charmed speech ; 



She who walks round ring of green, 
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; 
And she who takes rest in the 

Dwarfie's cave, 
A weary weird of woe shall have. 

By ring, by spring, by cave, by 

shore, 
Minna Troil has braved all this 

and more ; 
And yet hath the root of her sor- 
row and ill 
A source that's more deep and 

more mystical still. 
Thou art within a demon's hold, 
More wise than Heims, more 

strong than Trolld ; 
No siren sings so sweet as he : 
No fay springs lighter on the lea ; 
No elfin power hath half the art 
To soothe, to move, to wring the 

heart : 
Life-blood from the cheek to drain, 
Drench the eye, and dry the vein. 
Maiden, ere we farther go, 
Dost thou note me, ay or no? 

MINNA 

I mark thee, my mother, both 
word, look, and sign ; 

Speak on with thy riddle — to read 
it be mine. 

NORNA 

Mark me ! for the word I speak 

Shall bring the color to thy cheek. 

This leaden heart, so light of cost, 

The symbol of a treasure lost, 

Thou shalt wear in hope and in 
peace, 

That the cause of your sickness 
and sorrow may cease, 

When crimson foot meets crimson 
hand 

In the Martyrs' Aisle, and in Ork- 
ney land. 

Be patient, be patient, for Patience 
hath power 

To ward us in danger, like mantle 
in shower ; 

A fairy gift you best may hold 



THE MAID OF ISLA 



627 



In a chain of fairy gold ; 

The chain and the gift are each a 

true token, 
That not without warrant old 

Noma hath spoken ; 
But thy nearest and dearest must 

never behold them, 
Till time shall accomplish the 

truths I have told them. 



XII 

BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVER- 
TISEMENT 

Poor sinners whom the snake de- 
ceives, 

Are fain to cover them with leaves. 

Zetland hath no leaves, 't is true, 

Because that trees are none, or 
few ; 

But we have flax and taits of 
woo', 

For linen cloth, and wadmaal blue ; 

And we have many of foreign 
knacks 

Of finer waft than woo' or flax. 

Ye gallanty Lambmas lads appear, 

And bring your Lambmas sisters 
here, 

Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost 
or care, 

To pleasure every gentle pair. 



'ON ETTRICK FOREST'S 
MOUNTAINS DUN* 

Ox Ettrick Forest's mountains dun 

*T is blithe to hear the sportsman's 
gun, 

And seek the heath-frequenting 
brood 

Far through the noonday soli- 
tude ; 

By many a cairn and trenched 
mound 

"Where chiefs of yore sleep lone 
and sound. 



And springs where gray-haired 

shepherds tell 
That still the fairies love to dwell. 

Along the silver streams of Tweed 
'T is blithe the mimic fly to lead, 
When to the hook the salmon 

springs, 
And the line whistles through the 

rings ; 
The boiling eddy see him try, 
Then dashing from the current 

high, 
Till watchful eye and cautious 

hand 
Have led his wasted strength to 

land. 

'T is blithe along the midnight 
tide 

With stalwart arm the boat to 
guide ; 

On high the dazzling blaze to rear. 

And heedful plunge the barbed 
spear ; 

Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging 
bright, 

Fling on the stream their ruddy 
light, 

And from the bank our band ap- 
pears 

Like Genii armed with fiery spears. 

'T is blithe at eve to tell the tale 
How we succeed and how we fail, 
Whether at Alwyn's lordly meal, 
Or lowlier board of Ashestiel ; 
While the gay tapers cheerly shine, 
Bickers the fire and flows the 

wine — 
Days free from thought and nights 

from care, 
My blessing on the Forest fair. 

THE MAID OF ISLA 

Air— ' The Maid of Ma ' 

O maid of Isla, from the cliff 
That looks on troubled wave and 
sky, 



628 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Dost thou not see yon little skiff 
Contend with ocean gallantly? 
Now beating 'gainst the breeze 
and surge, 
And steeped her leeward deck 
in foam, 
Why does she war unequal urge?— 
O Isla's maid, she seeks her 
home. 

O Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark, 
Her white wing gleams through 
mist and spray 
Against the storm-cloud lowering 
dark, 
As to the rock she wheels 
away ; — 
Where clouds are dark and billows 
rave, 
Why to the shelter should she 
come 
Of cliff, exposed to wind and 
wave ? — 
O maid of Isla, 't is her home ! 

As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, 
Thou'rt adverse to the suit I 
bring, 
And cold as is yon wintry cliff 
Where sea-birds close their wea- 
ried wing. 
Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave, 
Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come ; 
For in thy love or in his grave 
Must Allan Vourich find his 
home. 



FAREWELL TO THE MUSE 

Enchantress, farewell, who so 
oft hast decoyed me 
At the close of the evening 
through woodlands to roam, 
Where the forester lated with won- 
der espied me 
Explore the wild scenes he was 
quitting for home. 
Farewell, and take with thee thy 
numbers wild speaking 
The language alternate of rap- 
ture and woe : 



O ! none but some lover whose 
heart-strings are breaking 
The pang that I feel at our part- 
ing can know ! 

Each joy thou couldst double, and 
when there came sorrow 
Or pale disappointment to dark- 
en my way, 
What voice was like thine, that 
could sing of to-morrow 
Till forgot in the strain was the 
grief of to-day ! 
But when friends drop around us 
in life's weary waning, 
The grief, Queen of Numbers, 
thou canst not assuage ; 
Nor the gradual estrangement of 
those yet remaining, 
The languor of pain and the 
chillness of age. 

'T was thou that once taught me in 
accents bewailing 
To sing how a warrior lay 
stretched on the plain, 
And a maiden hung o'er him with 
aid unavailing, 
And held to his lips the cold 
goblet in vain ; 
As vain thy enchantments, O 
Queen of wild Numbers, 
To a bard when the reign of his 
fancy is o'er, 
And the quick pulse of feeling in 
apathy slumbers — 
Farewell, then, Enchantress; — 
I meet thee no more. 



NIGEL'S INITIATION AT 
WHITEFRIARS 

FROM 'THE FORTUNES OF 
NIGEL ' 

Your suppliant, by name 
Nigel Grahame, 
In fear of mishap 
From a shoulder-tap ; 
And dreading a claw 



'CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME 



629 



From the talons of law, 


Are the freedom and gifts 


That are sharper than briars 5 


Of which I am the donor. 


His freedom to sue 




And rescue by you ; 




Through weapon and wit, 


'CARLE, NOW THE KING'S 


From warrant and writ, 


COME ' 


From bailiff's hand, 




From tipstaff's wand, 


BEING NEW WORDS TO AN 


Is come hither to Whitefriars. 


AULD SPRING 




PART FIRST 




The news has flown frae mouth 


By spigot and barrel, 


to mouth, 


By bilboe and buff ; 


The North for ance has banged 


Thou art sworn to the quarrel 


the South ; 


Of the blades of the Huff. 


The deil a Scotsman's die o» 


For Whitefriars and its claims 


drouth, 


To be champion or martyr, 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 


And to fight for its dames 




Like a Knight of the Garter. 


CHORUS 




Carle, now the King 's come ! 




Carle, now the King 's come ! 






Thou shalt dance, and I will sing, 


From the touch of the tip, 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 


From the blight of the war- 




rant, 


Auld England held him lang and 


From the watchmen who skip 


fast; 


On the Harman Beck's errand, 


And Ireland had a joyfu' cast ; 


From the bailiff's cramp speech, 


But Scotland's turn is come at 


That makes man a thrall, 


last: 


I charm thee from each, 


Carle, now the King 's come : 


And I charm thee from all. 




Thy freedom 's complete 


Auld Reekie, in her rokelay grey, 


As a blade of the Huff, 


Thought never to have seen the 


To be cheated and cheat, 


day, 


To be cuffed and to cuff ; 


He 's been a weary time away — 


To stride, swear, and swagger, 


But, Carle, now the King 'scome ! 


To drink till you stagger, 




To stare and to stab, 


She 's skirling frae the Castle-hill ; 


And to brandish your dagger 


The Carline's voice is grown sae 


In the cause of your drab ; 


shrill, 


To walk wool-ward in winter, 


Ye '11 hear her at the Canon-mill : 


Drink brandy, and smoke, 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 


And go fresco in summer 




For want of a cloak ; 


* Up, bairns ! ' she cries, - baith grit 


To eke out your living 


and sma\ 


By the wag of your elbow, 


And busk ye for the weapon- 


By fulham and gourd, 


shaw ! 


And by baring of bilboe ; 


Stand by me, and we '11 bang them 


To live by your shifts, 


a'— 


And to swear by your honor 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 



630 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



1 Come from Newbattle's ancient 


Breadalbane, bring your belted 


spires, 


plaids ; 


Bauld Lothian, with your knights 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 


and squires, 




And match the mettle of your 


' Come, stately Niddrie, auld and 


sires : 


true, 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 


Girt with the sword that Minden 




knew; 


4 You 're welcome hame, my Mon- 


We have o'er few such lairds as 


tagu ! 


you: 


Bring in your hand the young Buc- 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 


cleuch ; 




I 'm missing some that I may rue ; 


' King Arthur 's grown a common 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 


crier, 




He 's heard in Fife and far Cantire: — 


1 Come, Haddington, the kind and 


"Fie, lads, behold my crest of 


gay, 


fire!" 


You 've graced my causeway mony 


Carle, now the King 's come ! ' 


a day ; 




I '11 weep the cause if you should 


' Saint Abb roars out, " I see him 


stay : 


pass, 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 


Between Tantallon and the Bass! " 




Carlton, get out your keeking-glass, 


'Come, premier Duke, and carry 


Carle, now the King 's come ! ' 


doun 




Frae yonder craig his ancient 


The Carline stopped ; and, sure I 


croun ; 


am, 


It \s had a lang sleep and a 


For very glee had ta'en a dwam, 


soun' : 


But Oman helped her to a dram. 


But, Carle, now the King 's come ! 


Cogie, now the King 's come ! 


'Come, Athole, from the hill and 


CHORUS 


wood, 


Cogie, now the King 's come t 


Bring down your clansmen like a 


Cogie, now the King's come ! 


cloud ; 


I 'se be fou\ and ye 's be toom, 


Come, Morton, show the Douglas' 


Cogie, now the King 's come ! 


blood: 




Carle, now the King 's come ! 






PART SECOND 


1 Come, Tweeddale, true as sword 




to sheath ; 


A Hawick gill of mountain dew, 


Come, Hopetoun, feared on fields 


Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I 


of death ; 


trow, 


Come, Clerk, and give your bugle 


It minded her of Waterloo : 


breath ; 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 






Again I heard her summons swell, 


* Come, Wemyss, who modest merit 


For, sic a dirdum and a yell, 


aids; 


It drowned Saint Giles's jowing 


Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny 


bell: 


shades ; 


Carle, now the King 's come ! 



CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME' 



631 



c My trusty Provost, tried and 

tight, 
Stand forward for the Good Town's 

right, 
There 's waur than you been made 

a knight : 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

4 My reverend Clergy, look ye say 
The best of thanksgivings ye 

ha'e, 
And warstle for a sunny day : 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

* My Doctors, look that you agree, 
Cure a' the town without a fee ; 
My Lawyers, dinna pike a plea : 
Carle, now the King 's come! 

'Come forth each sturdy Burgh- 
er's bairn, 

That dints on wood or clanks on 
airn, 

That fires the o'en, or winds the 
pirn: 
Carle, now the King 's come! 

1 Come forward with the Blanket 

Blue, 
Your sires were loyal men and 

true, 
As Scotland's foemen oft might 

rue : 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

'Scots downa loup, and rin and 

rave, 
We 're steady folks and something 

grave, 
We '11 keep the causeway firm and 

brave : 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

' Sir Thomas, thunder from your 

rock, 
Till Pentland dinnles wi' the 

shock, 
And lace wi' fire my snood 0' 

smoke : 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 



' Melville, bring out your bands of 

blue, 
A' Louden lads, baith stout and 

true, 
With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn, 

too: 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

1 And you, who on yon bluidy braes 
Compelled the vanquished Des- 
pot's praise, 
Eank out, rank out, my gallant 
Greys : 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

'Cock of the North, my Huntly 

bra', 
Where are you with the Forty-twa ? 
Ah ! wae 's my heart that ye 're 

awa' : 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

' But yonder come my canty Celts, 
With durk and pistols at their 

belts, 
Thank God, we 've still some 
plaids and kilts : 
Carle, now the King's come! 

' Lord, how the pibrochs groan and 

yell! 
Macdonell 's ta'en the field himsell, 
Macleod comes branking o'er the 

fell: 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

' Bend up your bow each Archer 

spark, 
For you 're to guard him light and 

dark; 
Faith, lads, for ance ye 've hit the 

mark: 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

'Young Errol, take the sword of 

state, 
The Sceptre, Panie-Morarchate ; 
Knight Mareschal, see ye clear 

the gate : 
Carle, now the King 's come! 



632 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



' Kind cummer, Leith, ye 've been 

mis-set, 
But dinna be upon the fret : 
Ye 'se hae the handsel of him yet, 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

* My daughters, come with een sae 
blue, 

Your garlands weave, your blos- 
soms strew ; 

He ne'er saw fairer flowers than 
you: 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

'What shall we do for the pro- 
pine: 
We used to offer something fine, 
But ne'er a groat's in pouch of 
mine : 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

'Deil care — for that I'se never 

start, 
We '11 welcome him with Highland 

heart ; 
Whate'er we have he 's get a 

part: 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

'I'll show him mason-work this 

day: 
Nane of your bricks of Babel 

clay, 
But towers shall stand till Time 's 

away: 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

4 1 '11 show him wit, I '11 show him 

lair, 
And gallant lads and lasses fair. 
And what wad kind heart wish for 

mair? 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

'Step out, Sir John, of projects 

rife, 
Come win the thanks of an auld 

wife, 
And bring him health and length 

of life : 
Carle, now the King 's come ! ' 



THE BANNATYNE CLUB 

Assist me, ye friends of Old Books 

and Old Wine, 
To sing in the praises of sage 

Bannatyne, 
Who left such a treasure of old 

Scottish lore 
As enables each age to print one 

volume more. 
One volume more, my friends, 

one volume more, 
We'll ransack old Banny for 

one volume more. 

And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager 

to glean 
From Bannatyne' s Hortus his 

bright Evergreen ; 
Two light little volumes— intended 

for four — 
Still leave us the task to print one 

volume more. 

One volume more, etc. 

His ways were not ours, for he 

cared not a pin 
How much he left out or how much 

he put in ; 
The truth of the reading he thought 

was a bore, 
So this accurate age calls for one 

volume more. 

One volume more, etc. 

Correct and sagacious, then came 
my Lord Hailes, 

And weighed every letter in criti- 
cal scales, 

But left out some brief words 
which the prudish abhor, 

And castrated Banny in one vol- 
ume more. 
One volume more, my friends, 

one volume more ; 
We'll restore Banny's man- 
hood in one volume more. 

John Pinkerton next, and I'm 

truly concerned 
I can't call that worthy so candid 

as learned ; 



EPILOGUE 



633 



He railed at the plaid and blas- 
phemed the claymore, 
And set Scots by the ears in his 
one volume more. 
One volume more, my friends, 

one volume more, 
Celt and Goth shall be pleased 
with one volume more. 

As bitter as gall and as sharp as a 
razor, 

And feeding on herbs as a Nebu- 
chadnezzar ; 

His diet too acid, his temper too 
sour, 

Little Ritson came out with his 
two volumes more. 
But one volume, my friends, 

one volume more, 
We'll dine on roast-beef and 
print one volume more. 

The stout Gothic yeditur, next on 

the roll, 
With his beard like a brush and as 

black as a coal ; 
And honest Greysteel that was 

true to the core, 
Lent their hearts and their hands 

each to one volume more. 
One volume more, etc. 

Since by these single champions 

what wonders were done, 
What may not be achieved by our 

Thirty and One ? 
Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we 

count in our corps, 
And the Trade and the Press join 

for one volume more. 
One volume more, etc. 

Ancient libels and contraband 

books, I assure ye, 
We '11 print as secure from Ex- 

chequer or Jury ; 
Then hear your Committee and let 

them count o'er 
The Chiels they intend in their 

three volumes more. 

Three volumes more, etc. 



They '11 produce you King Jamie, 

the sapient and Sext, 
And the Rob of Durablane and her 

Bishops come next ; 
One tome miscellaneous they'll 

add to your store, 
Resolving next year to print four 

volumes more. 
Four volumes more, my friends, 

four volumes more ; 
Pay down your subscriptions 

for four volumes more. 



COUNTY GUY 

Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 

The sun has left the lea, 
The orange flower perfumes the 
bower, 
The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark his lay who thrilled all 
day 
Sits hushed his partner nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower confess 
the hour, 
But where is County Guy ? 

The village maid steals through 
the shade, 

Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
To beauty shy by lattice high 

Sings high-born Cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above, 

Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; 
And high and low the influence 
know — 

But where is County Guy ! 



EPILOGUE 

TO THE DRAMA FOUNDED ON 
' SAINT RON AN' S WELL ' 

{Enter Meg Dodds, encircled by 
a crowd of unruly boys, whom 
a town } s-officer is driving off.~] 

That's right, friend — drive the 

gaitlings back, 
And lend yon muckle ane a whack ; 



634 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Your Embro' bairns are grown a 


Or crack a bottle, 


pack, 


They gang to a new-fangled place 


Sae proud and saucy, 


They ca' a Hottle. 


They scarce will let an auld wife 




walk 


The deevil hottle them for Meg ! 


Upon your causey. 


They are sae greedy and sae gleg, 




That if ye 're served but wi' an 


I 've seen the day they would been 


egg — 


scaur ed 


And that 's puir picking — 


Wi' the Tolbooth or wi' the Guard, 


In comes a chiel and makes a 


Or maybe wud hae some regard 


leg, 


For Jamie Laing-— 


And charges chicken ! 


The Water-hole was right weel 




wared 


' And wha may ye be,' gin ye speer, 


On sic a gang. 


'That brings your auld-warld 




clavers here ? ■ 


But whar's the gude Tolbooth 


Troth, if there 's onybody near 


gane now? 


That kens the roads, 


Whar 's the auld Claught, wi' red 


I '11 haud ye Burgundy to beer 


and blue ? 


He kens Meg Dodds. 


Whar's Jamie Laing? and whar 's 




John Doo ? 


I came a piece frae west o' Cur- 


And whar 's the Weigh-house ? 


rie; 


Deil hae 't I see but what is 


And, since I see you 're in a hurry, 


new, 


Your patience I'll nae langer 


Except the Playhouse ! 


worry, 




But be sae crouse 


Yoursells are changed frae head 


As speak a word for ane Will 


to heel, 


Murray 


There \s some that gar the cause- 


That keeps this house. 


way reel 




With clashing hufe and rattling 


Plays are auld-fashioned things in 


wheel, 


truth, 


And horses canterin', 


And ye 've seen wonders mair un- 


Wha's fathers daundered hame 


couth ; 


as weel 


Yet actors should na suffer drouth 


Wi' lass and lantern. 


Or want of dramock, 




Although they speak but wi' their 


My sell being in the public line, 


mouth, 


I look for howfs I kenned lang 


Not wi' their stamock. 


syne, 




Whar gentles used to drink gude 


But ye take care of a' folk's 


wine 


pantry ; 


And eat cheap dinners ; 


And surely to hae stooden sen- 


But deil a soul gangs there to dine 


try 


Of saints or sinners ! 


Ower this big house — that's far 




frae rent-free — 


Fortune's and Hunter's gane, alas ! 


For a lone sister. 


And Bayle's is lost in empty space ; 


Is claims as gude's to be a ven- 


And now if folk would splice a 


tri — 


brace 


How 'st ca'd — loquister. 



VERSES FROM 


REDGAUNTLET 635 


Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care 


And show — my fingers tingle at 


The bairns niak fun o' Meg nae 


the thought — 


mair; 


The loads of tapestry which that 


For gin they do, she tells you fair 


poor queen wrought. 


And without failzie, 


In vain did fate bestow a double 


As sure as ever ye sit there, 


dower 


She '11 tell the Bailie. 


Of every ill that waits on rank and 




power, 




Of every ill on beauty that at- 


EPILOGUE 


tends — 




False ministers, false lovers, and 


The sages — for authority, pray, 


false friends. 


look 


Spite of three wedlocks so com- 


Seneca's morals or the copy- 


pletely curst, 


book— 


They rose in ill from bad to worse 


The sages to disparage woman's 


and worst, 


power, 


In spite of errors — I dare not say 


Say beauty is a fair but fading 


more, 


flower ; — 


For Duncan Targe lays hand on 


I cannot tell— I've small philo- 


his claymore. 


sophy- 


In spite of all, however humors 


Yet if it fades it does not surely 


vary, 


die, 


There is a talisman in that word 


But, like the violet, when decayed 


Mary, 


in bloom, 


That unto Scottish bosoms all and 


Survives through many a year in 


some 


rich perfume. 


Is found the genuine open sesa- 


Witness our theme to-night ; two 


rnurn ! 


ages gone, 


In history, ballad, poetry, or novel, 


A third wanes fast, since Mary 


It charms alike the castle and the 


filled the throne. 


hovel, 


Brief was her bloom with scarce 


Even you — forgive me — who, de- 


one sunny day 


mure and shy, 


'Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal 


Gorge not each bait nor stir at 


Fotheringay : 


every fly, 


But when, while Scottish hearts 


Must rise to this, else in her an- 


and blood you boast, 


cient reign 


Shall sympathy with Mary's woes 


The Rose of Scotland has survived 


be lost ? 


in vain. 


O'er Mary's memory the learned 




quarrel, 




By Mary's grave the poet plants 




his laurel, 


VERSES FROM RED- 


Time's echo, old tradition, makes 


GAUNTLET 


her name 




The constant burden of his falter- 


1 


ing theme ; 


A CATCH OF COWLEY'S ALTERED 


In each old hall his gray-haired 




heralds tell 


For all our men were very very 


Of Mary's picture and of Mary's 


merry, 


cell, 


And all our men were drinking : 



6 3 6 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



There were two men of mine, 

Three men of thine, 

And three that belonged to old Sir 
Thorn o' Lyne. 

As they went to the ferry, they 
were very very merry, 
And all our men were drink- 
ing. 

Jack looked at the sun, and cried, 

Fire, fire, fire ! 
Tom stabled his keffel in Birken- 

dale mire ; 
Jem started a calf, and hallooed 

for a stag ; 
Will mounted a gate-post instead 

of his nag : 
For all our men were very very 

merry, 
And all our men were drink- 

ing; 
There were two men of mine, 
Three men of thine, 
And three that belonged to old 

Sir Thorn o' Lyne. 
As they went to the ferry, they 

were very very merry, 
For all our men were drinking. 



ii 



'AS LORDS THEIR LABORERS' 
HIRE DELAY ' 

As lords their laborers' hire de- 
lay, 
Fate quits our toil with hopes to 
come, 
Which, if far short of present 
pay, 
Still owns a debt and names a 
sum. 

Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, 
then, 

Although a distant date be given ; 
Despair is treason towards man, 

And blasphemy to Heaven. 



LINES 

ADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR AL- 
EXANDRE THE CELEBRATED 
VENTRILOQUIST 

Of yore, in old England, it was not 

thought good 
To carry two visages under one 

hood; 
What should folk say to you ? who 

have faces such plenty, 
That from under one hood, you 

last night showed us twenty ! 
Stand forth, arch-deceiver, and tell 

us in truth, 
Are you handsome or ugly, in age 

or in youth ? 
Man, woman, or child — a dog or 

a mouse? 
Or are you, at once, each live 

thing in the house? 
Each live thing, did I ask ? each 

dead implement, too, 
A work -shop in your person,— 

saw, chisel, and screw ! 
Above all, are you one individual ? 

I know 
You must be at least Alexandre 

and Co. 
But I think you're a troop, an 

assemblage, a mob, 
And that I, as the Sheriff, should 

take up the job ; 
And instead of rehearsing your 

wonders in verse, 
Must read you the Riot-Act, and 

bid you disperse. 
Abbotsford, 23d April. 



TO J. G. LOCKHAET, ESQ. 

ON THE COMPOSITION OF 
MAIDA'S EPITAPH 

Dear John,— I some time ago 

wrote to inform his 
Fat worship of jaces, misprinted 

for dormis ; 



SONGS FROM THE BETROTHED 



637 



But that several Southrons assured 

me the janti a m 
Was a twitch to both ears of Ass 

Priscian's cranium. 
You perhaps may observe that 

one Lionel Berguer, 
In defence of our blunder appears 

a stout arguer. 
But at length I have settled, I 

hope, all these clatters, 
By a roict in the papers, fine place 

for such matters. 
I have therefore to make it for 

once my command, sir, 
That my gudeson shall leave the 

whole thing in my hand, sir, 
And by no means accomplish what 

James says you threaten, — 
Some banter in Blackwood to 

claim your dog-Latin. 
I have various reasons of weight, 

on my word, sir, 
For pronouncing a step of this 

sort were absurd, sir. 
Firstly, erudite sir, 't was against 

your advising 
I adopted the lines this monstrosity 

lies in; 
For you modestly hinted my Eng- 
lish translation 
Would become better far such a 

dignified station. 
Second, how, in God's name, would 

my bacon be saved 
By not having writ what I clearly 

engraved? 
On the contrary, I, on the whole? 

think it better 
To be whipped as the thief, than 

his lousy resetter. 
Thirdly, don't you perceive that I 

don't care a boddle 
Although fifty false metres were 

flung at my noddle, 
For my back is as broad aud as 

hard as Benlomon's, 
And I treat as I please both the 

Greeks and the Romans ; 
Whereas the said heathens might 

rather look serious 



At a kick on their drum from the 

scribe of Valerius. 
And, fourthly and lastly, it is my 

good pleasure 
To remain the sole source of that 

murderous measure. 
So, stet pro ratione voluntas* — be 

tractile. 
Invade not, I say, my own dear 

little dactyl ; 
If you do, you '11 occasion a breach 

in our intercourse. 
To-morrow will see me in town 

for the winter-course, 
But not at your door, at the usual 

hour, sir, 
My own pye-house daughter's 

good prog to devour, sir. 
Ergo, peace ! — on your duty your 

squeamishness throttle, 
And we '11 soothe Priscian's spleen 

with a canny third bottle. 
A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all 

spondees, 
A fig for all dunces and Dominie 

Grundys ; 
A fig for dry thrapples, south, 

north, east, and west, sir, 
Speats and raxes ere five for a 

famishing guest, sir ; 
Aud as Fatsman and I have some 

topics for haver, he '11 
Be invited, I hope, to meet me and 

Dame Peveril, 
Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury 

and Anne, you a 
Dog shall be deemed if you fasten 

your Janua. 



SONGS FROM THE BE- 
TROTHED 



'SOLDIER, WAKE!' 

Soldier, w 7 ake ! the day is peep- 
ing, 
Honor ne'er was won in sleeping; 



6 3 8 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Never when the sunbeams still 
Lay unreflected on the hill : 
'T is when they are glinted back 
From axe and armor, spear and 

jack, 
That they promise future story 
Many a page of deathless glory. 
Shields that are the foeman's 

terror, 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 

Arm and up ! the morning beam 
Hath called the rustic to his team, 
Hath called the falc'ner to the 

lake, 
Hath called the huntsman to the 

brake ; 
The early student ponders o'er 
His dusty tomes of ancient lore. 
Soldier, wake ! thy harvest, fame ; 
Thy study, conquest ; war, thy 

game. 
Shield, that would be foeman's 

terror, 
Still should gleam the morning's 

mirror. 

Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ; 
More paltry still the sportsman's 

gain: 
Vainest of all, the student's theme 
Ends in some metaphysic dream : 
Yet each is up, and each has toiled, 
Since first the peep of dawn has 

smiled: 
And each is eagerer in his aim 
Than he who barters life for 

fame. 
Up, up, and arm thee, son of ter- 
ror ! 
Be thy bright shield the morning's 
mirror. 



ii 



WOMAN'S FAITH 

Woman's faith, and woman's 

trust : 
Write the characters in dust, 



Stamp them on the running stream. 
Print them on the moon's pale 

beam, 
And each evanescent letter, 
Shall be clearer, firmer, better, 
And more permanent, I ween, 
Than the things those letters mean . 

I have strained the spider's thread 
'Gainst the promise of a maid ; 
I have weighed a grain of sand 
'Gainst her plight of heart and 

hand; 
I told my true love of the token, 
How her faith proved light, and 

her word was broken : 
Again her word and truth she 

plight, 
And I believed them again ere 

night. 



in 

4 1 ASKED OF MY HARP' 

I asked of my harp, 'Who hath 
injured thy chords ? ' 

And she replied, * The crooked 
finger, which I mocked in my 
tune.' 

A blade of silver may be bended — 
a blade of steel abideth : 

Kindness fadeth away, but ven- 
geance endureth. 

The sweet taste of mead passeth 
from the lips, 

But they are long corroded by the 
juice of wormwood ; 

The lamb is brought to the sham- 
bles, but the wolf rangeth 
the mountain ; 

Kindness fadeth away, but ven- 
geance endureth. 

I asked the red-hot iron, when it 
glimmered on the anvil, 

'Wherefore glowest thou longer 
than the firebrand ? ' 



VERSES FROM THE TALISMAN 



639 



4 1 was born in the dark mine, and 
the brand in the pleasant 
greenwood.' 

Kindness fadeth away, but ven- 
geance endureth. 

I asked the green oak of the as- 
sembly, wherefore its boughs 
were dry and seared like the 
horns of the stag? 

And it showed me that a small 
worm had gnawed its roots. 

The boy who remembered the 
scourge, undid the wicket of 
the castle at' midnight. 

Kindness fadeth away, but ven- 
geance endureth. 

Lightning destroyeth temples, 
though their spires pierce 
the clouds ; 

Storms destroy armadas, though 
their sails intercept the gale. 

He that is in his glory falleth, 
and that by a contemptible 
enemy. 

Kindness fadeth away, but ven- 
geance endureth. 

'WIDOWED wife and wedded 

MAID' 

Widowed wife and wedded maid, 
Betrothed, betrayer, and betrayed, 
All is done that has been said ; 
Vanda's wrong hath been y-wro- 

ken: 
Take her pardon by this token. 



VERSES FROM THE TALIS- 
MAN 



'DARK AHRIMAN, WHOM IRAK 
STILL ' 

Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still 
Holds origin of woe and ill ! 
When, bending at thy shrine, 



We view the world with troubled 

eye, 
Where see we, 'neath the extended 

sky, 
An empire matching thine ! 

If the Benigner Power can yield 
A fountain in the desert field, 

Where weary pilgrims drink ; 
Thine are the waves that lash the 

rock, 
Thine the tornado's deadly shock, 

Where countless navies sink ! 

Or if He bid the soil dispense 
Balsams to cheer the sinking 
sense, 
How few can they deliver 
From lingering pains, or pang in- 
tense, 
Red Fever, spotted Pestilence, 
The arrows of thy quiver ! 

Chief in Man's bosom sits thy 

sway, 
And frequent, while in words we 
pray 
Before another throne, 
Whate'er of specious form be 

there, 
The secret meaning of the prayer 
Is, Ahriman, thine own. 

Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and 

form, 
Thunder thy voice, thy garments 

storm, 
As Eastern Magi say ; 
With sentient soul of hate and 

wrath, 
And wings to sweep thy deadly 

path, 
And fangs to tear thy prey ? 

Or art thou mixed in Nature's 

source, 
An ever-operating force, 

Converting good to ill ; 
An evil principle innate, 
Contending with our better fate, 

And oh ! victorious still ? 



640 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Howe'er it be, dispute is vain. 
On all without thou hold'st thy 
reign, 
Nor less on all within ; 
Each mortal passion's fierce ca- 
reer, 
Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear, 
Thou goadest into sin. 

Whene'er a sunny gleam appears, 
To brighten up our vale of tears, 

Thou art not distant far ; 
'Mid such brief solace of our lives, 
Thou whett'st our very banquet- 
knives 

To tools of death and war. 



Thus, from the moment of our 

birth, 
Long as we linger on the earth, 

Thou rul'st the fate of men ; 
Thine are the pangs of life's last 

hour, 
And — who dare answer ? — is thy 
power, 
Dark Spirit ! ended Then ? 



11 



'WHAT BRAVE CHIEF SHALL 
HEAD THE FORCES ' 

What brave chief shall head the 
forces, 
Where the red-cross legions 
gather? 
Best of horsemen, best of horses, 
Highest head and fairest fea- 
ther. 

Ask not Austria why, 'midst 
princes, 
Still her banner rises highest ; 
Ask as well the strong-winged 
eagle 
Why to heaven he soars the 
nighest. 



in 

THE BLOODY VEST 

'T was near the fair city of Bene- 

vent. 
When the sun was setting on 

bough and bent, 
And knights were preparing in 

bower and tent, 
On the eve of the Baptist's tourna* 

ment; 
When in Lincoln green a stripling 

gent, 
Well seeming a page by a princess 

sent, 
Wandered the camp, and, still as 

he went, 
Inquired for the Englishman, 

Thomas a Kent. 

Far hath he fared, and farther 

must fare, 
Till he finds his pavilion nor state- 
ly nor rare,— 
Little save iron and steel was 

there : 
And, as lacking the coin to pay 

armorer's care, 
With his sinewy arms to the 

shoulders bare, 
The good knight with hammer and 

file did repair 
The mail that to-morrow must see 

him wear, 
For the honor of Saint John and 

his lady fair. 

4 Thus speaks my lady,' the page 

said he, 
And the knight bent lowly both 

head and knee : 
' She is Benevent's Princess so 

high in degree, 
And thou art as lowly as knight 

may well be — 
He that would climb so lofty a 

tree, 
Or spring such a gulf as divides 

her from thee, 



VERSES FROM THE TALISMAN 



641 



Must dare some high deed, by 
which all men may see 

His ambition is backed by his hie 
chivalrie. 



1 Therefore thus speaks my lady,' 

the fair page he said, 
And the knight lowly louted with 

hand and with head : 
' Fling aside the good armor in 

which thou art clad, 
And don thou this weed of her 

night-gear instead, 
For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of 

thread : 
And charge thus attired, in the 

tournament dread, 
And fight, as thy wont is, where 

most blood is shed, 
And bring honor away, or remain 

with the dead.' 

Untroubled in his look, and un- 
troubled in his breast, 

The knight the weed hath taken, 
and reverently hath kissed : 

' Now blessed be the moment, the 
messenger be blest ! 

Much honored do I hold me in my 
lady's high behest ; 

And say unto my lady, in this dear 
night-weed dressed, 

To the best armed champion I will 
not veil my crest ; 

But if I live and bear me well, 't is 
her turn to take the test.' 

Here, gentles, ends the foremost 
fytte of the Lay of the 
Bloody Vest. 

FYTTE SECOND 

The Baptist's fair morrow beheld 
gallant feats : 

There was winning of honor, and 
losing of seats : 

There was hewing with falchions, 
and splintering of staves, 

The victors won glory, the van- 
quished won graves. 



Oh, many a knight there fought 

bravely and well, 
Yet one was accounted his peers 

to excel, 
And 't was he whose sole armor 

on body and breast 
Seemed the weed of a damsel when 

bound for her rest. 

There were some dealt him 
wounds, that were bloody 
and sore, 

But others respected his plight, 
and forebore. 

'It is some oath of honor,' they 
said, ' and I trow, 

'T were unknightly to slay him 
achieving his vow.' 

Then the Prince, for his sake, bade 
the tournament cease, 

He flung down his warder, the 
trumpets sung peace ; 

And the judges declare, and com- 
petitors yield, 

That the Knight of the Night-gear 
was first in the field. 

The feast it was nigh, and the 

mass it was nigher, 
When before the fair Princess low 

louted a squire, 
And delivered a garment unseemly 

to view, 
With sword-cut and spear-thrust, 

all hacked and pierced 

through ; 
All rent and all tattered, all clotted 

with blood, 
With foam of the horses, with dust, 

and with mud ; 
Not the point of that lady's small 

finger, I ween, 
Could have rested on spot was un- 
sullied and clean. 

' This token my master, Sir 

Thomas a Kent, 
Restores to the Princess of fair 

Benevent : 
He that climbs the tall tree has 

won right to the fruit, 



642 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



He that leaps the wide gulf should 

prevail in his suit ; 
Through life's utmost peril the 

prize I have won, 
And now must the faith of my 

mistress be shown ; 
For she who prompts knights on 

such danger to run, 
Must avouch his true service in 

front of the sun. 

1 1 restore/ says my master, ' the 

garment I 've worn, 
And I claim of the Princess to don 

it in turn, 
For its stains and its rents she 

should prize it the more, 
Since by shame 't is unsullied, 

though crimsoned with gore.' 
Then deep blushed the Princess, 

yet kissed she and pressed 
The blood-spotted robes to her lips 

and her breast. 
'Go tell my true knight, church 

and chamber shall show 
]f I value the blood on this gar- 
ment or no.' 

And when it was time for the 

nobles to pass, 
In solemn procession to minster 

and mass, 
The first walked the Princess in 

purple and pall, 
But the blood-besmeared night- 
robe she wore over all ; 
And eke, in the hall, where they 

all sat at dine, 
When she knelt to her father and 

proffered the wine, 
Over all her rich robes and state 

jewels she wore 
That wimple unseemly bedabbled 

with gore. 

Then lords whispered ladies, as 

well you may think, 
And ladies replied, with nod, titter, 

and wink : 



And the Prince, who in anger and 

shame had looked down, 
Turned at length to his daughter, 

and spoke with a frown : 
'Now since thou hast published 

thy folly and guilt, 
E'en atone with thy hand for the 

blood thou hast spilt; 
Yet sore for your boldness you 

both will repent, 
When you wander as exiles from 

fair Benevent.' 

Then out spoke stout Thomas, in 
hall where he stood, 

Exhausted and feeble, but daunt- 
less of mood ; 

* The blood that I lost for this 
daughter of thine, 

I poured forth as freely as flask 
gives its wine : 

And if for my sake she brooks 
penance and blame, 

Do not doubt I will save her from 
suffering and shame ; 

And light will she reck of thy 
princedom and rent, 

When I hail her, in England, the 
Countess of Kent.' 



VERSES FROM W r OODSTOCK 



'by pathless march, by 
greenwood tree ' 

By pathless march, by greenwood 

tree, 
It is thy weird to follow me : 
To follow me through the ghastly 

moonlight, 
To follow me through the shadows 

of night, 
To follow me, comrade, still art 

thou bound : 
I conjure thee by the unstanched 

wound, 
I conjure thee by the last words I 

spoke, 



LINES TO SIR CUTHBERT SHARP 



643 



When the body slept and the 

spirit awoke, 
In the very last pangs of the 

deadly stroke ! 



11 



GLEE FOR KING CHARLES 

Bring the bowl which you boast, 

Fill it up to the brim ; 
'T is to him we love most, 

And to all who love him. 
Brave gallants, stand up, 

And avauntye, base carles ! 
Were there death in the cup, 

Here 's a health to King Charles ! 

Though he wanders through dan- 
gers, 

Unaided, unknown, 
Dependent on strangers, 

Estranged from his own ; 
Though 't is under our breath 

Amidst forfeits and perils, 
Here 's to honor and faith, 

And a health to King Charles ! 

Let such honors abound, 

As the time can afford, 
The knee on the ground, 

And the hand on the sword ; 
But the time shall come round 

When, 'mid Lords, Dukes, and 
Earls, 
The loud trumpet shall sound, 

Here 's a health to King Charles ! 



in 

' AN HOUR WITH THEE ' 

An hour with thee ! When earli- 
est day 

Dapples with gold the eastern gray. 

Oh, what can frame my mind to 
bear 

The toil and turmoil, cark and 
care, 



New griefs, which coming hours 

unfold, 
And sad remembrance of the old ! 
One hour with thee ! 

One hour with thee ! When burn- 
ing June 

Waves his red flag at pitch of 
noon ; 

What shall repay the faithful 
swain, 

His labor on the sultry plain ; 

And more than cave or sheltering 
bough, 

Cool feverish blood and throbbing 
brow ? 

One hour with thee ! 

One hour with thee ! When sun 
is set, 

Oh ! what can teach me to forget 

The thankless labors of the day; 

The hopes, the wishes, flung away ; 

The increasing wants and lessen- 
ing gains, 

The master's pride who scorns my 
pains ? — 

One hour with thee ! 



IV 

' SON OF A WITCH ' 

Son of a witch, 

Mayst thou die in a ditch, 

With the butchers who back thy 

quarrels ; 
And rot above ground, 
While the world shall resound 
A welcome to Royal King Charles. 



LINES TO SIE CUTHBERT 
SHARP 

Forget thee! No! my worthy 

fere! 
Forget blithe mirth and gallant 

cheer ! 
Death sooner stretch me on my 

bier ! 

Forget thee ? No. 



644 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Forget the universal shout 
When ' canny Sunderland ' spoke 

out: 
A truth which knaves affect to 

doubt : 

Forget thee ? No. 

Forget you? No: though now-a- 

day 
I 've heard your knowing people 

say, 
' Disown the debt you cannot pay, 
You '11 find it far the thriftiest 

way' — 

But I ? — O no. 

Forget your kindness found for all 

room, 
In what, though large, seemed 

still a small room, 
Forget my Surtees in a ball-room : 
Forget you ? No. 

Forget your sprightly dumpty- 
diddles, 

And beauty tripping to the fid- 
dles, 

Forget my lovely friends the Lid- 
dells ; 

Forget you ? No. 



VEKSES FROM CHRONICLES 
OF THE CANON-GATE 



OLD SONG FROM * THE HIGHLAND 
WIDOW ' 

Oh, I'm come to the Low Coun- 
try, 

Och, och, ohonochie, 
Without a penny in my pouch 

To buy a meal for me. 

I was the proudest of my clan, 
Long, long may I repine ; 



And Donald was the bravest man, 
And Donald he was mine. 



ii 



THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE 

FROM 'THE FAIR MAID OF 
PERTH ' 

Ah, poor Louise ! the livelong day 
She roams from cot to castle gay ; 
And still her voice and viol say. 
Ah, maids, beware the woodland 
way, 

Think on Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise! The sun was 
high, 

It smirched her cheek, it dimmed 
her eye, 

The woodland walk was cool and, 
nigh, 

Where birds with chiming stream- 
lets vie 

To cheer Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! The savage bear 
Made ne'er that lovely grove his 

lair ; 
The wolves molest not paths so 

fair — 
But better far had such been there 
For poor Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! In woody wold 
She met a huntsman fair and bold ; 
His baldrick was of silk and gold, 
And many a witching tale he told 
To poor Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! Small cause to 
pine 

Hadst thou for treasures of the 
mine; 

For peace of mind, that gift di- 
vine, 

And spotless innocence, were 
thine, 

Ah, poor Louise ! 



THE DEATH OF KEELDAR 



645 



Ah, poor Louise ! Thy treasure 's 

reft! 
I know not if by force or theft, 
Or part by violence, part by gift ; 
But misery is all that 's left 

To poor Louise. 

Let poor Louise some succor have ! 
She will not long your bounty 

crave, 
Or tire the gay with warning 

stave — 
For heaven has grace, and earth a 

grave, 

For poor Louise. 



in 

DEATH CHANT 

Viewless Essence, thin and bare, 
Well-nigh melted into air ; 
Still with fondness hovering near 
The earthly form thou once didst 
wear; 

Pause upon thy pinion's flight, 
Be thy course to left or right; 
Be thou doomed to soar or sink, 
Pause upon the awful brink. 

To avenge the deed expelling 
Thee untimely from thy dwell- 
ing, 
Mystic force thou shalt retain 
O'er the blood and o'er the brain. 

When the form thou shalt espy 
That darkened on thy closing 

eye; 
When the footstep thou shalt hear 
That thrilled upon thy dying ear; 

Then strange sympathies shall 

wake, 
The flesh shall thrill, the nerves 

shall quake ; 
The wounds renew their clottered 

flood, 
And every drop cry blood for blood. 



IV 



SONG OF THE GLEE-MAIDEN 

Yes, thou mayst sigh, 
And look once more at all around, 
At stream and bank, and sky and 

ground, 
Thy life its final course has found, 

And thou must die. 

Yes, lay thee down, 
And while thy struggling pulses 

flutter, 
Bid the grey monk his soul-mass 

mutter, 
And the deep bell its death-tone 
utter : 
Thy life is gone. 

Be not afraid, 
'T is but a pang, and then a thrill, 
A fever fit, and then a chill ; 
And then an end of human ill : 

For thou art dead. 



THE DEATH OF KEELDAR 

Up rose the sun o'er moor and 

mead; 
Up with the sun rose Percy 

Rede; 
Brave Keeldar, from his couples 

freed, 
Careered along the lea ; 
The Palfrey sprung with sprightly 

bound, 
As if to match the gamesome 

hound ; 
His horn the gallant huntsman 

wound : 
They were a jovial three ! 

Man, hound, or horse, of higher 

fame, 
To wake the wild deer never 

came 
Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the 

game 



6 4 6 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



On Cheviot's rueful day : 
Keeldar was matchless in his 

speed, 
Than Tarras ne'er was stancher 

steed, 
A peerless archer, Percy Rede ; 
And right dear friends were 
they. 

The chase engrossed their joys 
and woes, 

Together at the dawn they rose, 

Together shared the noon's re- 
pose 
By fountain or by stream ; 

And oft when evening skies were 
red 

The heather was their common 
bed, 

Where each, as wildering fancy 
led, 
Still hunted in his dream. 

Now is the thrilling moment near 
Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear ; 
Yon thicket holds the harbored 

deer, 
The signs the hunters know : 
With eyes of flame and quivering 

ears 
The brake sagacious Keeldar 

nears ; 
The restless palfrey paws and 

rears ; 
The archer strings his bow. 

The game 's afoot ! — Halloo ! Hal- 
loo! 

Hunter and horse and hound pur- 
sue ; — 

But woe the shaft that erring 
flew — 
That e'er it left the string! 

And ill betide the faithless yew ! 

The stag bounds scathless o'er the 
dew, 

And gallant Keeldar's life-blood 
true 
Has drenched the gray-goose 
wing. 



The noble hound — he dies, he 

dies ; 
Death; death has glazed his fixed 

eyes; 
Stiff on the bloody heath he lies 

Without a groan or quiver. 
Now day may break and bugle 

sound, 
And whoop and hollow ring 

around, 
And o'er his couch the stag may 

bound, 
But Keeldar sleeps forever. 

Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, 
Mark the poor palfrey's mute sur- 
prise ; 
He knows not that his comrade 
dies, 
Nor what is death — but still 
His aspect hath expression drear 
Of grief and w r onder mixed with 

fear, 
Like startled children when they 
hear 
Some mystic tale of ill. 

But he that bent the fatal bow 
Can well the sum of evil know. 
And o'er his favorite bending 
low 

In speechless grief recline ; 
Can think he hears the senseless 

clay 
In unreproachf ul accents say, 
4 The hand that took my life away, 

Dear master, was it thine ? 

' And if it be, the shaft be blessed 
Which sure some erring aim ad- 
dressed, 
Since in your service prized, ca- 
ressed, 
I in your service die ; 
And you may have a fleeter hound 
To match the dun-deer's merry 

bound, 
But by your couch will ne'er be 
found 
So true a guard as I.' 



THE FORAY 



647 



And to his last stout Percy rued 
The fatal chance, for when he 

stood 
'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud 

And fell amid the fray, 
E'en with his dying voice he cried, 
1 Had Keeldar but been at ray side, 
Your treacherous ambush had 
been spied — 

I had not died to-day ! ' 

Remembrance of the erring bow 
Long since had joined the tides 

which flow, 
Conveying human bliss and woe 

Down dark oblivion's river; 
But Art can Time's stern doom 

arrest 
And snatch his spoil from Lethe's 

breast, 
And, in her Cooper's colors drest, 
The scene shall live forever. 



THE SECRET TRIBUNAL 

FROM 'ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN' 

Measurers of good and evil, 
Bring the square, the line, the 

level,— 
Rear the altar, dig the trench, 
Blood both stone and ditch shall 

drench. 
Cubits six, from end to end, 
Must the fatal bench extend; 
Cubits six, from side to side, 
Judge and culprit must divide. 
On the east the Court assembles, 
On the west the Accused trem- 
bles : 
Answer, brethren, all and one, 
Is the ritual rightly done ? 



How wears the night ? Doth morn- 
ing shine 

In early radiance on the Rhine ? 

What music floats upon his tide? 

Do birds the tardy morning chide? 

Brethren, look out from hill and 
height, 

And answer true, how wears the 
night? 



On life and soul, on blood and 

bone, 
One for all, and all for one, 
We warrant this is rightly done. 



The night is old ; on Rhine's broad 

breast 
Glance drowsy stars which long to 

rest. 
No beams are twinkling in the 

east. 
There is a voice upon the flood, 
The stern still call of blood for 

blood ; 
'Tis time we listen the behest. 

Up, then, up ! When day 's at rest, 
'Tis time that such as we are 
watchers ; 

Rise to judgment, brethren, rise ! 

Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes, 
He and night are matchers. 



THE FORAY 

The last of our steers on the 

board has been spread, 
And the last flask of wine in our 

goblet is red ; 
Up ! up, my brave kinsmen ! belt 

swords and begone, 
There are dangers to dare and 

there 's spoil to be won. 

The eyes that so lately mixed 

glances with ours 
For a space must be dim, as they 

gaze from the towers, 
And strive to distinguish through 

tempest and gloom 
The prance of the steed and the 

toss of the plume. 



648 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



The rain is descending ; the wind 

rises loud ; 
And the moon her red beacon has 

veiled with a cloud ; 
'T is the better, my mates ! for the 

warder's dull eye 
Shall in confidence slumber nor 

dream we are nigh. 

Our steeds are impatient! I hear 

my blithe Grey ! 
There is life in his hoof-clang and 

hope in his neigh ; 
Like the flash of a meteor, the 

glance of his mane 
Shall marshal your march through 

the darkness and rain. 

The drawbridge has dropped, the 

bugle has blown ; 
One pledge is to quaff yet — then 

mount and begone ! — 
To their honor and peace that shall 

rest with the slain ; 
To their health and their glee that 

see Teviot again ! 



INSCRIPTION 

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE 
REV. GEORGE SCOTT 

To youth, to age, alike, this tablet 
pale 

Tells the brief moral of its tragic 
tale. 

Art thou a parent? Keverence 
this bier, 

The parents' fondest hopes lie 
buried here. 

Art thou a youth, prepared on life 
to start, 

With opening talents and a gener- 
ous heart ; 

Fair hopes and flattering pro- 
spects all thine own ? 

Lo ! here their end— a monumental 
stone. 



But let submission tame each sor- 
rowing thought, 

Heaven crowned its champion ere 
the fight was fought. 



SONGS FROM THE DOOM OF 
DEVORGOIL 



' THE SUN UPON THE LAKE » 

The sun upon the lake is low, 

The wild birds hush their song, 
The hills have evening's deepest 
glow, 

Yet Leonard tarries long. 
Now all whom varied toil and care 

From home and love divide, 
In the calm sunset may repair 

Each to the loved one's side. 

The noble dame, on turret high 

Who waits her gallant knight, 
Looks to the western beam to spy 

The flash of armor bright. 
The village maid, with hand on 
brow 

The level ray to shade, 
Upon the footpath watches now 

For Colin's darkening plaid. 

Now to their mates the wild swans 
row, 

By day they swam apart ; 
And to the thicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hart. 
The woodlark at his partner's side 

Twitters his closing song — 
All meet whom day and care di- 
vide, 

But Leonard tarries long. 



11 

' WE love the shrill trum- 
pet' 

We love the shrill trumpet, we 
love the drum's rattle, 

They call us to sport, and they 
call us to battle ; 



SONGS FROM THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL 649 



And old Scotland shall laugh at 
the threats of a stranger, 

While our comrades in pastime 
are comrades in danger. 

If there 's mirth in our house, 't is 
our neighbor that shares it — 

If peril approach, 'tis our neigh- 
bor that dares it ; 

And when we lead off to the pipe 
and the tabor, 

The fair hand we press is the hand 
of a neighbor. 

Then close your ranks, comrades, 

the bands that combine them, 
Faith, friendship, and brotherhood, 

join'd to entwine them; 
And we '11 laugh at the threats of 

each insolent stranger, 
While our comrades in sport are 

our comrades in danger. 

in 

' ADMIRE NOT THAT I GAINED ' 

Admire not that I gained the 
prize 

From all the village crew ; 
How could I fail with hand or eyes 

When heart and faith were true ? 

And when in floods of rosy wine 
My comrades drowned their 
cares, 
I thought but that thy heart was 
mine, 
My own leapt light as theirs. 

My brief delay then do not blame, 
Xor deem your swain untrue ; 

My form but lingered at the game, 
My soul was still with you. 



IV 



WHEN THE TEMPEST 

When the tempest 's at the loud- 
est 
On its gale the eagle rides ; 



When the ocean rolls the proudest 
Through the foam the sea-bird 
glides — 
All the rage of wind and sea 
Is subdued by constancy. 

Gnawing want and sickness pin- 
ing, 
All the ills that men endure, 
Each their various pangs combin- 
ing, 
Constancy can find a cure — 
Pain and Fear and Poverty 
Are subdued by constancy. 

Bar me from each wonted plea- 
sure, 
Make me abject, mean, and 
poor, 
Heap on insults without measure, 

Chain me to a dungeon floor — 
I '11 be happy, rich, and free, 
If endowed with constancy. 



BONNY DUNDEE 

Air — * The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee ' 

To the Lords of Convention 'twas 

Claver'se who spoke, 
' Ere the King's crown shall fall 
there are crowns to be broke ; 
So let each Cavalier who loves 

honor and me, 
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny 
Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, come fill 

up my can, 
Come saddle your horses and 

call up your men ; 
Come open the West Port and 

let me gang free, 
And it 's room for the bonnets 
of Bonny Dundee ! ' 

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up 

the street, 
The bells are rung backward, the 

drums they are beat ; 



650 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



But the Provost, douce man, said, 

' Just e'en let him be, 
The Gude Town is weel quit of 
that Deil of Dundee.' 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

As he rode down the sanctified 
bends of the Bow, 

Ilk carline was flyting and shak- 
ing her pow ; 

But the young plants of grace they 
looked couthie and slee, 

Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou 
Bonny Dundee! 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

With sour - featured Whigs the 

Grassmarket was crammed 
As if half the West had set tryst 

to be hanged ; 
There was spite in each look, there 

was fear in each e'e, 
As they watched for the bonnets 

of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

These cowls of Kilmarnock had 

spits and had spears, 
And lang-hafted gullies to kill 

Cavaliers ; 
But they shrunk to close-heads 

and the causeway was free, 
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny 

Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

He spurred to the foot of the proud 
Castle rock, 

And with the gay Gordon he gal- 
lantly spoke ; 

' Let Mons Meg and her marrows 
speak twa words or three. 

For the love of the bonnet of Bonny 
Dundee.' 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

The Gordon demands of him which 

way he goes — 
* Where'er shall direct me the 

shade of Montrose ! 



Your Grace in short space shall 

hear tidings of me, 
Or that low lies the bonnet of 
Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 



' There are hills beyond Pentland 

and lands beyond Forth, 
If there 's lords in the Lowlands, 

there 's chiefs in the North ; 
There are wild Duniewassals three 

thousand times three, 
Will cry hoigh .' for the bonnet of 

Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

1 There 's brass on the target of 

barkened bull-hide ; 
There 's steel in the scabbard that 

dangles beside ; 
The brass shall be burnished, the 

steel shall flash free, 
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny 

Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 



1 Away to the hills, to the caves, to 

the rocks — 
Ere I own an usurper, I '11 couch 

with the fox ; 
And tremble, false Whigs, in the 

midst of your glee, 
You have not seen the last of my 

bonnet and me ! ' 
Come fill up my cup, etc. 

He waved his proud hand and the 

trumpets were blown, 
The kettle-drums clashed, and the 

horsemen rode on, 
Till on Kavelston's cliffs and on 

Clermiston's lee 
Died away the wild war-notes of 

Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, come fill 

up my can, 
Come saddle the horses and 

call up the men, 



LINES ON FORTUNE 



651 



Come open your gates and let 

me gae free, 
For it 's up with the bonnets 

of Bonny Dundee ! 



VI 



'when friends are met' 

When friends are met o'er merry 

cheer, 
And lovely eyes are laughing near, 
And in the goblet's bosom clear 

The cares of day are drowned ; 
When puns are made and bumpers 

quaffed, 
And wild Wit shoots his roving 

shaft, 
And Mirth his jovial laugh has 
laughed, 
Then is our banquet crowned, 

Ah ! gay, 
Then is our banquet crowned. 

When glees are sung and catches 

trolled, 
And bashfulness grows bright and 

bold, 
And beauty is no longer cold, 

And age no longer dull ; 
When chimes are brief and cocks 

do crow 
To tell us it is time to go, 
Yet how to part we do not know, 
Then is our feast at full, 

Ah! gay, 
Then is our feast at full. 



'HITHER WE COME' 

Hither we come, 
Once slaves to the drum, 
But no longer we list to its rattle ; 



Adieu to the wars, 
With their slashes and scars, 
The march, and the storm, and the 
battle. 

There are some of us maimed, 
And some that are lamed, 
And some of old aches are com- 
plaining ; 
But we '11 take up the tools 
Which we flung by like fools, 
'Gainst Don Spaniard to go a-cam- 
paigning. 

Dick Hathorn doth vow 
To return to the plough, 
Jack Steele to his anvil and ham- 
mer; 
The weaver shall find room 
At the wight-wapping loom, 
And your clerk shall teach writing 
and grammar. 



LINES ON FORTUNE 

Fortune, my Foe, why dost thou 

frown on me ? 
And will my Fortune never better 

be? 
Wilt thou, I say, forever breed my 

pain? 
And wilt thou ne'er return my joys 

again ? 

No — let my ditty be henceforth — 

Fortune, my friend, how well thou 

favorest me ! 
A kinder Fortune man did never 

see! 
Thou propp'st my thigh, thou rid- 

d'st my knee of pain, 
I '11 walk, I '11 mount — I '11 be a 

man again. — 



APPENDIX 



I. JUVENILE LINES 
FROM VIRGIL 

[1782] 

In awful ruins iEtna thunders 

nigh, 
And sends in pitchy whirlwinds 

to the sky- 
Black clouds of smoke, which, still 

as they aspire, 
From their dark sides there bursts 

the glowing fire : 
At other times huge balls of fire 

are tossed, 
That lick the stars, and in the 

smoke are lost : 
Sometimes the mount, with vast 

convulsions torn, 
Emits huge rocks, which instantly 

are borne 
With loud explosions to the starry 

skies, 
The stones made liquid as the 

huge mass flies, 
Then back again with greater 

weight recoils, 
While iEtna thundering from the 

bottom boils. 



ON A THUNDER-STORM 

[1783] 

Loud o'er my head though awful 

thunders roll, 
And vivid lightnings flash from 

pole to pole, 
Yet 't is thy voice, my God, that 

bids them fly, 



Thy arm directs those lightnings 

through the sky. 
Then let the good thy mighty name 

revere, 
And hardened sinners thy just 

vengeance fear. 



ON THE SETTING SUN 

[1783] 

Those evening clouds, that setting 

ray, 
And beauteous tints, serve to dis- 
play 
Their great Creator's praise ; 
| Then let the short-lived thing 
called man 
Whose life's comprised within a 
span, 
To him his homage raise. 

We often praise the evening 
clouds, 
And tints so gay and bold, 
But seldom think upon our God, 
Who tinged these clouds with 
gold! 



II. MOTTOES FROM THE 
NOVELS 

FROM THE ANTIQUARY 

I kxew Anselmo. He was shrewd 

and prudent, 
Wisdom and cunning had their 

shares of him ; 
But he was shrewish as a wayward 

child, 



654 



APPENDIX 



And pleased again by toys which 

childhood please ; 
As book of fables graced with 

print of wood, 
Or else the jingling of a rusty 

medal, 
Or the rare melody of some old 

ditty 
That first was sung to please King 

Pepin's cradle. 

4 Be brave,' she cried, 'you yet 

may be our guest. 
Our haunted room was ever held 

the best : 
If then your valor can the fight 

sustain 
Of rustling curtains and the clink- 
ing chain, 
If your courageous tongue have 

powers to talk 
When round your bed the horrid 

ghost shall walk, 
If you dare ask it why it leaves its 

tomb, 
I '11 see your sheets well aired and 

show the room.' 

True Story. 

Sometimes he thinks that Hea- 

. ven this vision sent, 
And ordered all the pageants as 

they went; 
Sometimes that only 't was wild 

Fancy's play, 
The loose and scattered relics of 

the day. 

Beggar ! — the only freemen of 

your Commonwealth, 
Free above Scot-free, that observe 

no laws, 
Obey no governor, use no religion 
But what they draw from their 

own ancient customs 
Or constitute themselves, yet they 

are no rebels. 

Brome. 

Here has been such a stormy en- 
counter 

Betwixt my cousin Captain and 
this soldier, 



About I know not what ! — nothing, 
indeed; 

Competitions, degrees, and com- 
paratives 

Of soldiership ! — 

A Faire Quarrel. 

If you fail honor here, 

Never presume to serve her any 
more ; 

Bid farewell to the integrity of 
arms, • 

And the honorable name of sol- 
dier 

Fall from you, like a shivered 
wreath of laurel 

By thunder struck from a desert- 
lesse forehead. 

A Faire Quarrel. 

The Lord Abbot had a soul 
Subtile and quick, and searching 

as the fire : 
By magic stairs he went as deep as 

hell, 
And if in devils' possession gold 

be kept, 
He brought some sure from thence 

— 't is hid in caves, 
Known, save to me, to none — 
The Wonder of a Kingdome. 

Many great ones 
Would part with half their states, 

to have the plan 
And credit to beg in the first 
style. — 

Beggar's Bush. 

Who is he?— One that for the 
lack of land 

Shall fight upon the water — he 
hath challenged 

Formerly the grand whale ; and by 
his titles 

Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so 
forth. 

He tilted with a sword-fish — 
Marry, sir, 

Th' aquatic had the best — the ar- 
gument 

Still galls our champion's breech. 
Old Play. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



655 



Tell me not of it, friend — when 

the young weep, 
Their tears are lukewarm brine ; — 

from our oid eyes 
Sorrow falls down like hail-drops 

of the North, 
Chilling the furrows of our with- 
ered cheeks, 
Cold as our hopes and hardened 

as our feeling — 
Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless 

— ours recoil, 
Heap the fair plain and bleaken 

all before us. 

Old Play. 

Remorse — she ne'er forsakes 

us ! — 
A bloodhound stanch —she tracks 

our rapid step 
Through the wild labyrinth of 

youthful frenzy, 
Unheard, perchance, until old age 

hath tamed us ; 
Then, in our lair, when Time hath 

chilled our joints 
And maimed our hope of combat 

or of flight, 
We hear her deep-mouthed bay, 

announcing all 
Of wrath and woe and punishment 

that bides us. 

Old Play. 

Still in his dead hand clenched 
remain the strings 

That thrill his father's heart — 
e'eu as the limb, 

Lopped off and laid in grave, re- 
tains, they tell us, 

Strange commerce with the muti- 
lated stump, 

Whose nerves are twinging still in 
maimed existence. 

Old Play. 

Life, with you,. 
Glows in the brain and dances in 
the arteries ; 



'T is like the wine some joyous 

guest hath quaffed, 
That glads the heart and elevates 

the fancy : — 
Mine is the poor residuum of the 

cup, 
Vapid and dull and tasteless, only 

soiling 
With its base dregs the vessel that 

contains it. 

Old Play. 

Yes ? I love Justice well — as well 

as you do — 
But, since the good dame 's blind, 

she shall excuse me, 
If, time and reason fitting, I prove 

dumb; — 
The breath I utter now shall be no 

means 
To take away from me my breath 

in future. 

Old Play. 

Well, well, at worst, 't is neither 
theft nor coinage, 

Granting I knew all that you 
charge me with. 

What tho' the tomb hath born a 
second birth 

And given the wealth to one that 
knew- not on 't, 

Yet fair exchange was never rob- 
bery, 

Far less pure bounty — 

Old Play. 

Life ebbs from such old age, un- 
marked and silent, 

As the slow neap-tide leaves yon 
stranded galley. 

Late she rocked merrily at the 
least impulse 

That wind or wave could give ; but 
now her keel 

Is settling on the sand, her mast 
has ta'en 

An angle with the sky from which 
it shifts not. 



656 



APPENDIX 



Each wave receding shakes her 

less and less, 
Till, bedded on the strand, she shall 

remain 
Useless as motionless. 

Old Play. 

So, while the Goose, of whom the 

fable told, 
Incumbent brooded o'er her eggs 

of gold, 
With hand outstretched impatient 

to destroy, 
Stole on her secret nest the cruel 

Boy, 
Whose gripe rapacious changed 

her splendid dream 
For wings vain fluttering and for 

dying scream. 
The Loves of the Sea- Weeds. 

Let those go see who will — I like 
it not — 

For, say he was a slave to rank 
and pomp, 

And all the nothings he is now di- 
vorced from 

By the hard doom of stern neces- 
sity; 

Yet is it sad to mark his altered 
brow, 

Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy 
veil 

O'er the deep wrinkles of repent- 
ant Anguish. 

Old Play. 

Fortune, you say, flies from us 
— She but circles, 

Like the fleet sea-bird round the 
fowler's skiff, — 

Lost in the mist one moment, and 
the next 

Brushing the white sail with her 
whiter wing, 

As if to court the aim. — Experi- 
ence watches, 

And has her on the wheel. — 

Old Play. 



FROM THE BLACK DWARF 

The bleakest rock upon the lone- 
liest heath 

Feels in its barrenness some touch 
of spring ; 

And, in the April dew or beam of 
May, 

Its moss and lichen freshen and 
revive ; 

And thus the heart, most seared 
to human pleasure, 

Melts at the tear, joys in the smile 
of woman. 

Beaumont. 

'T was time and griefs 
\ That framed him thus : Time, with 
his fairer hand, 
Offering the fortunes of his former 

days, 
The former man may make him — 

Bring us to him, 
And chance it as it may. 

Old Play. 



FROM OLD MORTALITY 

Arouse thee, youth ! — it is no 
common call, — 

God's Church is leaguered — haste 
to man the wall ; 

Haste where the Red-cross ban- 
ners wave on high, 

Signals of honored death or vic- 
tory. 

James Duff. 

My hounds may a' rin master- 
less, 
My hawks may fly frae tree to 
tree, 
My lord may grip my vassal 
lands, 
For there again maun I never 
be! 

Old Ballad. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



657 



Sound, sound the clarion, fill 
the fife ! 



That the poor captive would have 
died ere practised, 
To all the sensual world pro- Till bondage sunk his soul to his 

condition. 
The Prison, Act I. Scene 3. 



claim, 
One crowded hour of glorious j 
life 
Is worth an age without a Far as the eye could reach no tree 
name. was seen, 

Anonymous. Earth, clad in russet, scorned the 
lively green ; 
Xo birds, except as birds of pas- 
sage, flew; 
Xo bee was heard to hum, no dove 

to COO; 
Xo streams, as amber smooth, as 

amber clear, 
Were seen to glide, or heard to 
warble here. 

Prophecy of Famine. 



FROaI ROB ROY 

In the wide pile, by others heeded 

not, 
Hers was one sacred solitary spot, 
Whose gloomy aisles and bending 

shelves contain 
For moral hunger food, and cures 

for moral pain. 

Anonymous. 

Dire was his thought who first in 

poison steeped 
The weapon formed for slaughter 

— direr his, 
And worthier of damnation, who 

instilled 
The mortal venom in the social 

cup, 
To fill the veins with death instead 

of life. 

Anonymous. 

Look round thee, young Astolpho : 

Here 's the place 
Which men — for being poor — are 

sent to starve in — 
Rude remedy, I trow, for sore dis- 
ease. 
Within these walls, stifled by damp 

and stench, 
Doth Hope's fair torch expire ; and 

at the snuff, 
Ere yet 't is quite extinct, rude, 

wild, and wayward, 
The desperate revelries of wild 

despair, 
Kindling their hell-born cressets, 

ligkt to deeds 



■ Woe to the vanquished ! ' was 
stern Brenno's word, 

When sunk proud Rome beneath 
the Gallic sword — 

' Woe to the vanquished ! ' when 
his massive blade 

Bore down the scale against her 
ransom weighed, 

And on the field of foughten bat- 
tle still, 

Who knows no limit save the vic- 
tor's will. 

The Gaulliad. 

And be he safe restored ere even- 
ing set, 

Or, If there 's vengeance in an in- 
jured heart 

And power to wreak it in an armed 
hand, 

Your land shall ache for 't. 

Old Play. 

Farewell to the land where the 
clouds love to rest, 

Like the shroud of the dead, on 
the mountain's cold breast; 

To the cataract's roar where the 
eagles reply, 

And the lake her lone bosom ex- 
pands to the sky. 



658 



APPENDIX 



FROM THE HEART OF 
MIDLOTHIAN 

To man, in this his trial state, 
The privilege is given, 

When lost by tides of human fate, 
To anchor fast in Heaven. 

Watts' Hymns. 

Law, take thy victim ! — May she 

find the mercy 
In yon mild heaven which this 

hard world denies her ! 

And Need and Misery, Vice and 

Danger, bind 
In sad alliance each degraded 

mind. 

I BESEECH yOU — 

These tears beseech you, and these 

chaste hands woo you, 
That never yet were heaved but 

to things holy — 
Things like yourself — You are a 

God above us ; 
Be as a God then, full of saving 

mercy ! 

The Bloody Brother. 

Happy thou art ! then happy be, 

Nor envy me my lot ; 
Thy happy state I envy thee, 

And peaceful cot. 

Lady C C I. 



FROM THE BRIDE OF LAM- 
MERMOOR 

The hearth in hall was black and 
dead, 
No board was dight in bower 
within, 
Nor merry bowl nor welcome 
bed; 
' Here 's sorry cheer,' quoth the 
Heir of Linne. 
Old Ballad (Altered from 'The 
Heir of Linne''). 



As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle- 
sound, 

Various and vague the dry leaves 
dance their round ; 

Or from the garner-door, on aether 
borne, 

The chaff flies devious from the 
winnowed corn ; 

So vague, so devious, at the breath 
of heaven, 

From their fixed aim are mortal 
counsels driven. 

Anonymous. 

Hebe is a father now, 

Will truck his daughter for a for- 
eign venture, 

Make her the stop-gap to some 
cankered feud, 

Or fling her o'er, like Jonah, to the 
fishes, 

To appease the sea at highest. 
Anonymous. 

Sir, stay at home and take an old 
man's counsel : 

Seek not to bask you by a stran- 
ger's hearth ; 

Our own blue smoke is warmer 
than their fire. 

Domestic food is wholesome, 
though 'tis homely, 

And foreign dainties poisonous, 
though tasteful 

The French Courtezan. 

True-love, an thou be true, 
Thou hast ane kittle part to 
play, 
For fortune, fashion, fancy, and 
thou 
Maun strive for many a day. 

I 've kend by mony a friend's 
tale, 
Far better by this heart of 
mine, 
What time and change of fancy 
avail, 
A true love-knot to untwine. 
Hendersoun. 






MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 659 


Why, now I have Dame Fortune 


FROM IVANHOE 


by the forelock, 




And if she 'scapes my grasp the 


Away! our journey lies through 


fault is mine ; 


dell and dingle, 


He that hath buffeted with stern 


Where the blithe fawn trips by its 


adversity, 


timid mother, 


Best knows to shape his course to 


Where the broad oak with inter- 


favoring breezes. 


cepting boughs 


Old Play. 


Chequers the sun -beam in the 




greensward alley — 




Up and away! — for lovely paths 


FROM THE LEGEND OF 


are these 


MONTROSE 


To tread, when the glad sun is on 




his throne ; 


Dark on their journey loured the 


Less pleasant and less safe when 


gloomy day, 


Cynthia's lamp 


Wild were the hills and doubtful 


With doubtful glimmer lights the 


grew the way ; 


dreary forest. 


More dark, more gloomy, and more 


Ettrick Forest. 


doubtful showed 




The mansion which received them 


When autumn nights were long 


from the road. 


and drear, 


The Travellers, a Romance. 


And forest walks were dark 




and dim, 


Is this thy castle, Baldwin ? Mel- 


How sweetly on the pilgrim's 


ancholy 


ear 


Displays her sable banner from 


Was wont to steal the hermit's 


the donjon, 


hymn! 


Darkening the foam of the whole 




surge beneath. 


Devotion borrows Music's tone, 


Were I a habitant, to see this 


And Music took Devotion's 


gloom 


wing, 


Pollute the face of nature, and to 


And, like the bird that hails the 


hear 


sun, 


The ceaseless sound of wave and 


They soar to heaven, and soar- 


sea-bird's scream, 


ing sing. 


I 'd wish me in the hut that poor- 


The Hermit of Saint Clement's 


est peasant 


Well, 


E'er framed to give him temporary 




shelter. 


The hottest horse will oft be 


Browne. 


cool, 




The dullest will show fire ; 


This was the entry, then, these 


The friar will often play the 


stairs— but whither after? 


fool, 


Yet he that's sure to perish on 


The fool will play the friar. 


the land 


Old Song. 


May quit the nicety of card and 




compass, 


This wandering race, severed from 


And trust the open sea without a 


other men, 


pilot. 


Boast yet their intercourse with 


Tragedy of Brennovalt. 


human arts ; 



66o 



APPENDIX 



The seas, the woods, the deserts, 


Gains land and title, rank and rule, 


which they haunt, 


by seeming : 


Find them acquainted with their 


The clergy scorn it not, and the 


secret treasures ; 


bold soldier 


And unregarded herbs and flowers 


Will eke with it his service. — All 


and blossoms 


admit it, 


Display undreamed-of powers 


All practise it ; and he who is con- 


when gathered by them. 


tent 


The Jew. 


With showing what he is shall 




have small credit 


Approach the chamber, look 


In church or camp or state. — So 


upon his bed. 


wags the world. 


His is the passing of no peaceful 


Old Play. 


ghost, 




Which, as the lark arises to the sky, 


Stern was the law which bade its 


Mid morning's sweetest breeze 


votaries leave 


and softest dew, 


At human woes with human hearts 


Is winged to heaven by good men's 


to grieve ; 


sighs and tears ! 


Stern was the law which at the 


Anselm parts otherwise. 


winning wile 


Old Play. 


Of frank and harmless mirth for- 




bade to smile ; 


Trust me, each state must have 


But sterner still when high the 


its policies : 


iron-rod 


Kingdoms have edicts, cities have 


Of tyrant power she shook, and 


their charters ; 


called that power of God. 


Even the wild outlaw in his forest- 


The Middle Ages. 


walk 




Keeps yet some touch of civil dis- 




cipline. 


FROM THE MONASTERY 


For not since Adam wore his ver- 




dant apron 


ay! the Monks, the Monks, 


Hath man with man in social 


they did the mischief ! 


union dwelt, 


Theirs all the grossness, all the 


But laws were made to draw that 


superstition 


union closer. 


Of a most gross and superstitious 


Old Play. 


age. — 




May He be praised that sent the 


Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian 


healthful tempest, 


deserts, 


And scattered all these pestilen- 


Strive with the half-starved lion 


tial vapors ; 


for his prey ; 


But that we owed them all to yon- 


Lesser the risk than rouse the 


der Harlot 


slumbering fire 


Throned on the seven hills with 


Of wild Fanaticism. 


her cup of gold, 


Anonymous. 


I will as soon believe, with kind 




Sir Roger, 


Say not my art is fraud — all live 


That old Moll White took wing 


by seeming. 


with cat and broomstick, 


The beggar begs with it, and the 


And raised the last night's thunder. 


gay courtier 


Old Play. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



661 



In yon lone vale his early youth 
was bred. 

Not solitary then — the bugle-horn 

Of fell Alecto often waked its 
windings, 

From where the brook joins the 
majestic river, 

To the wild northern bog, the cur- 
lieu's haunt, 

Where oozes forth its first and fee- 
ble streamlet. 

Old Play. 

A priest, ye cry, a priest ! — lame 
shepherds they, 

How shall they gather in the strag- 
gling flock? 

Dumb dogs which bark not — how 
shall they compel 

The loitering vagrants to the Mas- 
ter's fold ? 

Fitter to bask before the blazing 
fire, 

And snuff the mess neat-handed 
Phillis dresses, 

Than on the snow-wreath battle 
with the wolf. 

The Reformation. 

Now let us sit in conclave. That 

these weeds 
Be rooted from the vineyard of the 

Church, 
That these foul tares be severed 

from the wheat, 
We are, I trust, agreed. Yet how 

to do this, 
Nor hurt the wholesome crop and 

tender vine-plants, 
Craves good advisement. 

The Reformation. 

Nay, dally not with time, the wise 
man's treasure, 

Though fools are lavish on 't — the 
fatal Fisher 

Hooks souls while we waste mo- 
ments. 

Old Play. 



You call this education, do you 

not? 
Why, 'tis the forced march of a 

herd of bullocks 
Before a shouting drover. The 

glad van 
Move on at ease, and pause awhile 

to snatch 
A passing morsel from the dewy 

greensward, 
While all the blows, the oaths, the 

indignation, 
Fall on the croupe of the ill-fated 

laggard 
That cripples in the rear. 

Old Play. 

There 's something in that an- 
cient superstition, 

Which, erring as it is, our fancy 
loves. 

The spring that, with its thousand 
crystal bubbles, 

Bursts from the bosom of some 
desert rock 

In secret solitude, may well be 
deemed 

The haunt of something purer, 
more refined, 

And mightier than ourselves. 

Old Play. 

Nay, let me have the friends who 
eat my victuals 

As various as my dishes. The 
feast 's naught, 

Where one huge plate predomi- 
nates. — John Plaintext, 

He shall be mighty beef, our Eng- 
lish staple ; 

The worthy Alderman, a buttered 
dumpling ; 

Yon pair of whiskered Cornets, 
ruffs and rees ; 

Their friend the Dandy, a green 
goose in sippets. 

And so the board is spread at 
once and filled 

On the same principle — Variety. 
New Play. 



662 



APPENDIX 



He strikes no coin, 'tis true, but 

coins new phrases, 
And vends them forth as knaves 

vend gilded counters, 
Which wise men scorn and fools 

accept in payment. 

Old Play. 

A courtier extraordinary, who 
by diet 

Of meats and drinks, his temper- 
ate exercise, 

Choice music, frequent bath, his 
horary shifts 

Of shirts and waistcoats, means to 
immortalize 

Mortality itself, and makes the 
essence 

Of his whole happiness the trim 
of court. 

Magnetic Lady. 

Now choose thee, gallant, be- 
twixt wealth and honor ; 

There lies the pelf, in sum to bear 
thee through 

The dance of youth and the tur- 
moil of manhood, 

Yet leave enough for age's chim- 
ney-corner ; 

But an thou grasp to it, farewell 
Ambition ! 

Farewell each hope of bettering 
thy condition, 

And raising thy low rank above 
the churls 

That till the earth for bread ! 

Old Play. 

Indifferent, but indifferent — 
pshaw ! he doth it not 

Like one who is his craft's master 
— ne'ertheless 

I have seen a clown confer a 
bloody coxcomb 

On one who was a master of de- 
fence. 

Old Play. 

Yes, life hath left him — every 

busy thought, 
Each fiery passion, every strong 

affection, 



The sense of outward ill and in- 
ward sorrow, 

Are fled at once from the pale 
trunk before me ; 

And I have given that which 
spoke and moved, 

Thought, acted, suffered, as a liv- 
ing man, 

To be a ghastly form of bloody 
clay, 

Soon the foul food for reptiles. 
Old Play. 

'T is when the wound is stiffening 

with the cold, 
The warrior first feels pain — 't is 

when the heat 
And fiery fever of his soul is past, 
The sinner feels remorse. 

Old Play. 

I 'll walk on tiptoe ; arm my eye 

with caution, 
My heart with courage, and my 

hand with weapon, 
Like him who ventures on a lion's 

den. 

Old Play. 

Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, 'tis 
hard reckoning 

That I, with every odds of birth 
and barony, 

Should be detained here for the 
casual death 

Of a wild forester, whose utmost 
having 

Is but the brazen buckle of the 
belt 

In which he sticks his hedge- 
knife. Old Play. 

You call it an ill angel — it may be 

SO; 

But sure I am, among the ranks 
which fell, 

'T is the first fiend e'er counselled 
man to rise, 

And win the bliss the sprite him- 
self had forfeited. 

Old Play. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



663 



At school I knew him — a sharp- 
witted youth, 

Grave, thoughtful, and reserved 
amongst his mates, 

Turning the hours of sport and 
food to labor, 

Starving his body to inform his 
mind. 

Old Play. 

Now on my faith this gear is all 

entangled, 
Like to the yarn-clew of the drowsy 

knitter, 
Dragged by the frolic kitten 

through the cabin 
While the good dame sits nodding 

o'er the fire — 
Masters, attend ; 't will crave some 

skill to clear it. 

Old Play. 

It is not texts will do it — Church 
artillery 

Are silenced soon by real ord- 
nance, 

And canons are but vain opposed 
to cannon. 

Go, coin your crosier, melt your 
church plate down, 

Bid the starved soldier banquet in 
your halls, 

And quaff your long-saved hogs- 
heads. — Turn them out 

Thus primed with your good cheer, 
to guard your wall, 

And they will venture for 't 

Old Play. 



FROM THE ABBOT 

In the wild storm 
The seaman hews his mast down 

and the merchant 
Heaves to the billows wares he | 

once deemed precious : 
So prince and peer, mid popular 

contentions, 
Cast off their favorites. 

Old Play. 



Thou hast each secret of the 
household, Francis. 

I dare be sworn thou hast been in 
the buttery 

Steeping thy curious humor in fat 
ale, 

And in the butler's tattle — ay, or 
chatting 

With the glib waiting-woman o'er 
her comfits — 

These bear the key to each domes- 
tic mystery. 

Old Play. 

The sacred tapers' lights are gone, 
Gray moss has clad the altar stone, 
The holy image is o'erthrown, 

The bell has ceased to toll. 
The long ribbed aisles are burst 

and shrunk, 
The holy shrines to ruin sunk, 
Departed is the pious monk, 

God's blessing on his soul! 

Rediviva. 

Life hath its May, and all is mirth- 
ful then : 

The woods are vocal and the flow- 
ers all odor ; 

Its very blast has mirth in 't, and 
the maidens, 

The while they don their cloaks 
to skreen their kirtles, 

Laugh at the rain that wets them. 
Old Play. 

Nay, hear me, brother — I am 

elder, wiser, 
And holier than thou ; and age 

and wisdom 
And holiness have peremptory 

claims, 
And will be listened to. 

Old Play. 

Not the wild billow, when it 

breaks its barrier — 
Not the wild wind, escaping from 

its cavern — 
Not the wild fiend, that mingles 

both together 



664 



APPENDIX 



And pours their rage upon the 

ripening harvest, 
Can match the wild freaks of this 

mirthful meeting — 
Comic, yet fearful — droll, and yet 

destructive. 

The Conspiracy. 

Youth ! thou wear'st to manhood 

now; 
Darker lip and darker brow, 
Statelier step, more pensive mien, 
In thy face and gait are seen : 
Thou must now brook midnight 

watches, 
Take thy food and sport by 

snatches ! 
For the gambol and the jest 
Thou wert wont to love the best, 
Graver follies must thou follow, 
But as senseless, false, and hol- 
low. 

Life, a Poem. 

It is and is not — 'tis the thing I 
sought for, 

Have kneeled for, prayed for, 
risked my fame and life for, 

And yet it is not — no more than 
the shadow 

Upon the hard, cold, flat, and pol- 
ished mirror, 

Is the warm, graceful, rounded, 
living substance 

Which it presents in form and 
lineament. 

Old Play. 

Give me a morsel on the green- 
sward rather, 

Coarse as you will the cooking — 
let the fresh spring 

Bubble beside my napkin — and 
the free birds, 

Twittering and chirping, hop from 
bough to bough, 

To claim the crumbs I leave for 
perquisites — 

Your prison-feasts I like not. 

The Woodman, a Drama. 



'T is a weary life this — 
Vaults overhead, and grates and 

bars around me, 
And my sad hours spent with as 

sad companions, 
Whose thoughts are brooding o'er 

their own mischances, 
Far, far too deeply to take part in 

mine. 

The Woodman. 

And when Love's torch hath set 
the heart in flame, 

Comes Seignior Keason, with his 
saws and cautions, 

Giving such aid as the old gray- 
beard Sexton, 

Who from the church-vault drags 
his crazy engine, 

To ply its dribbling ineffectual 
streamlet 

Against a conflagration. 

Old Play. 

Yes, it is she whose eyes looked 
on thy childhood, 

And watched with trembling hope 
thy dawn of youth, 

That now, with these same eye- 
balls, dimmed with age, 

And dimmer yet with tears, sees 
thy dishonor. 

Old Play. 

In some breasts passion lies con- 
cealed and silent, 

Like war's swart powder in a 
castle vault, 

Until occasion, like the linstock, 
lights it ; 

Then comes at once the lightning 
and the thunder, 

And distant echoes tell that all is 
rent asunder. 

Old Play. 

Death distant?— No, alas! he's 

ever with us, 
And shakes the dart at us in all 

our actings : 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



665 



He lurks within our cup while 


He was a man 


we 're in health ; 


Versed in the world as pilot in his 


Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our 


compass. 


medicines ; 


The needle pointed ever to that 


We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or 


interest 


travel, 


Which was his loadstar, and he 


But Death is by to seize us when 


spread his sails 


he lists. 


With vantage to the gale of others' 


The Spanish Father. 


passion. 




The Deceiver, a Tragedy. 


Ay, Pedro,— come you here with 




mask and lantern, 


This is he 


Ladder of ropes, and other moon- 


Who rides on the court-gale ; con- 


shine tools — 


trols its tides ; 


Why, youngster, thou mayst cheat 


Knows all their secret shoals and 


the old Duenna, 


fatal eddies ; 


Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe 


Whose frown abases and whose 


the valet ; 


smile exalts. 


But know, that I her father play 


He shines like any rainbow — and, 


the Gryphon, 


perchance, 


Tameless and sleepless, proof to 


His colors are as transient. 


fraud or bribe, 


Old Play. 


And guard the hidden treasure of 




her beauty. 


This is rare news thou tell'st me, 


The Spanish Father. 


my good fellow ; 




There are two bulls fierce battling 


It is a time of danger, not of revel, 


on the green 


When churchmen turn to mas- 


For one fair heifer — if the one 


quers. 


goes down, 


The Spanish Father. 


The dale will be more peaceful, 




and the herd, 


Ay, sir — our ancient crown, in 


Which have small interest in their 


these wild times, 


brulziement, 


Oft stood upon a cast — the game- 


May pasture there in peace. 


ster's ducat, 


Old Play. 


So often staked and lost and then 




regained, 


Well, then, our course is chosen ; 


Scarce knew so many hazards. 


spread the sail, — 


The Spanish Father. 


Heave oft the lead and mark the 




soundings well ; 




Look to the helm, good master; 


FROM KENILWORTH 


many a shoal 




Marks this stern coast, and rocks 


Not serve two masters? — Here 's 


where sits the siren 


a youth will try it — 


Who, like ambition, lures men to 


Would fain serve God, yet give the 


their ruin. 


devil his due ; 


The Shipwreck. 


Says grace before he doth a deed 




of villany, 


Now God be good to me in this 


And returns his thanks devoutly 


wild pilgrimage ! 


when 't is acted. 


All hope in human aid I cast he. 


Old Play. 


hind me. 



666 



APPENDIX 



O, who would be a woman? who 

that fool, 
A weeping, pining, faittiful, loving 

woman ? 
She hath hard measure still where 

she hopes kindest, 
And all her bounties only make 

ingrates. 

Love's Pilgrimage. 

Hark ! the bells summon and the 

bugle calls, 
But she the fairest answers not; 

the tide 
Of nobles and of ladies throngs the 

halls, 
But she the loveliest must in secret 

hide. 
What eyes were thine, proud 

prince, which in the gleam 
Of yon gay meteors lost that better 

sense 
That o'er the glow-worm doth the 

star esteem, 
And merit's modest blush o'er 

courtly insolence ? 

The Glass Slipper. 

What, man, ne'er lack a draught 
when the full can 

Stands at thine elbow and craves 
emptying ! — 

Nay, fear not me, for I have no de- 
light 

To watch men's vices, since I have 
myself 

Of virtue naught to boast of. — I'm 
a striker, 

Would have the world strike with 
me, pellmell, all. 

Pandwmonium. 

Now fare thee well, my master ! if 
true service 

Be guerdoned with hard looks, 
e'en cut the tow-line, 

And let our barks across the path- 
less flood 

Hold different courses. 

Shipwreck. 



Now bid the steeple rock — she 

comes, she comes ! 
Speak for us, bells ! speak for us, 

shrill-tongued tuckets ! 
Stand to the linstock, gunner ; let 

thy cannon 
Play such a peal as if a Paynim 

foe 
Came stretched in turbaned ranks 

to storm the ramparts. 
We will have pageants too ; but 

that craves wit, 
And I 'm a rough-hewn soldier. 

The Virgin-Queen, a Tragi- 
comedy. 

The wisest sovereigns err like 
private men, 

And royal hand has sometimes 
laid the sword 

Of chivalry upon a worthless shoul- 
der, 

Which better had been branded 
by the hangman. 

What then ? Kings do their best, 
— and they and we 

Must answer for the intent, and 
not the event. 

Old Play. 

Here stands the victim — - there 

the proud betrayer, 
E'en as the hind pulled down by 

strangling dogs 
Lies at the hunter's feet, who 

courteous proffers 
To some high dame, the Dian of 

the chase, 
To whom he looks for guerdon, his 

sharp blade 
To gash the sobbing throat. 

The Woodman. 

High o'er the eastern steep the 
sun is beaming, 

And darkness flies with her deceit- 
ful shadows ; 

So truth prevails o'er falsehood. 
Old Play. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



667 



FROM THE PIRATE 



the 



>T is not alone the scene 

man, Anselmo. 
The man finds sympathies in these 

wild wastes 
And roughly tumbling seas, which 

fairer views 
And smoother waves deny him. 
Ancient Drama. 

She does no work by halves, yon 

raving ocean ; 
Engulfing those she strangles, her 

wild womb 
Affords the mariners whom she 

hath dealt on 
Their death at once and sepulchre. 
Old Play. 

This is a gentle trader and a pru- 
dent- 
He 's no Autolycus, to blear your 

eye 
With quips of worldly gauds and 

gamesomeness, 
But seasons all his glittering 

merchandise 
With wholesome doctrine suited 

to the use, 
As men sauce goose with sage and 
rosemary. 

Old Play. 

All your ancient customs 
And long-descended usages I'll 

change. 
Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor 

speak, nor move, 
Think, look, or walk, as ye were 

wont to do ; 
Even your marriage-beds shall 

know mutation ; 
The bride shall have the stock, the 

groom the wall ; 
For all old practice will I turn and 

change, 
And call it reformation— marry, 

will I ! 
' Tis Even that we We at Odds. 



We '11 keep our customs — what is 

law itself 
But old established custom? What 

religion — 
I mean, with one half of the men 

that use it — 
Save the good use and wont that 

carries them 
To worship how and where their 

fathers worshipped ? 
All things resolve in custom — 

we '11 keep ours. 

Old Play. 

I do love these ancient ruins ! 

We never tread upon them but we 
set 

Our foot upon some reverend his- 
tory, 

And questionless, here in this open 
court — 

Which now lies naked to the in- 
juries 

Of stormy weather — some men lie 
interred, 

Loved the Church so well and gave 
so largely to it, 

They thought it should have cano- 
pied their bones 

Till doomsday; — but all things 
have their end — 

Churches and cities, which have 
diseases like to men, 

Must have like death which we 
have. 

Duchess of Malfy. 

See yonder woman, whom our 

swains revere 
And dread in secret, while they 

take her counsel 
When sweetheart shall be kind, or 

when cross dame shall die ; 
Where lurks the thief who stole 

the silver tankard, 
And how the pestilent murrain 

may be cured ; — 
This sage adviser's mad, stark 

mad, my friend ; 
Yet in her madness hath the art 

and cunning 



668 



APPENDIX 



To wring fools' secrets from their 

inmost bosoms, 
And pay inquirers with the coin 

they gave her. 

Old Play. 

What ho, my jovial mates ! come 

on ! we '11 frolic it 
Like fairies frisking in the merry 

moonshine, 
Seen by the curtal friar, who, from 

some christening 
Or some blithe bridal, hies belated 

cell- ward — 
He starts, and changes his bold 

bottle swagger 
To churchman's pace professional, 

— and, ransacking 
His treacherous memory for some 

holy hymn, 
Finds but the roundel of the mid- 
night catch. 

Old Play. 

I strive like to the vessel in the 
tide-way, 

Which, lacking favoring breeze, 
hath not the power 

To stem the powerful current. — 
Even so, 

Resolving daily to forsake my 
vices, 

Habit, strong circumstance, re- 
newed temptation, 

Sweep me to sea again. — hea- 
venly breath, 

Fill thou my sails, and aid the 
feeble vessel, 

Which ne'er can reach the blessed 
port without thee ! 
' T is Odds when Evens meet. 

Parental love, my friend, has 

power o'er wisdom, 
And is the charm, which, like the 

falconer's lure, 
Can bring from heaven the highest 

soaring spirits. — 
So, when famed Prosper doffed 

his magic robe 
It was Miranda plucked it from 

his shoulders. 

Old Play. 



Hark to the insult loud, the bitter 

sneer, 
The fierce threat answering to the 

brutal jeer ; 
Oaths fly like pistol-shots, and 

vengeful words 
Clash with each other like conflict- 

ing swords. — 
The robber's quarrel by such 

sounds is shown, 
And true men have some chance 

to gain their own. 

Captivity, a Poem. 

Over the mountains and under 

the waves, 
Over the fountains and under the 
graves, 
Over floods that are deepest, 

Which Neptune obey, 
Over rocks that are steepest, 
Love will find out the way. 
Old Song. 



FROM THE FORTUNES OF 
NIGEL 

Now Scot and English are agreed, 
And Saunders hastes to cross the 

Tweed, 
Where, such the splendors that 

attend him, 
His very mother scarce had kenned 

him. 
His metamorphosis behold 
From Glasgow frieze to cloth of 

gold; 
His back-sword with the iron-hilt, 
To rapier fairly hatched and gilt ; 
Was ever seen a gallant braver ! 
His very bonnet 's grown a beaver. 
The Reformation. 

This, sir, is one among the Seign- 
iory, 

Has wealth at will, and will to use 
his wealth, 

And wit to increase it. Marry, his 
worst folly 

Lies in a thriftless sort of char- 
ity, 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



669 



That goes a-gadding sometimes 

after objects 
Which wise men will not see when 

thrust upon them. 

The Old Couple. 

Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath oft- 
times craft in 't, 

As says the rustic proverb; and 
your citizen, 

In 's grogram suit, gold chain, and 
well-blacked shoes, 

Bears under his flat cap ofttimes a 
brain 

Wiser than burns beneath the cap 
and feather, 

Or seethes within the statesman's 
velvet nightcap. 

Read me my Riddle. 

Wherefore come ye not to 
court ? 

Certain 't is the rarest sport; 

There are silks and jewels glisten- 
ing, 

Prattling fools and wise men lis- 
tening, 

Bullies among brave men justling, 

Beggars amongst nobles bustling ; 

Low-breathed talkers, minion lisp- 
ers, 

Cutting honest throats by whis- 
pers ; 

Wherefore come ye not to court? 

Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport. 
Skelton Skeltonizeth. 

O, I do know him — 't is the 

mouldy lemon 
Which our court wits will wet 

their lips withal, 
When they would sauce their hon- 
ied conversation 
With somewhat sharper flavor. — 

Marry, sir, 
That virtue 's wellnigh left him — 

all the juice 
That was so sharp and poignant 

is squeezed out ; 
While the poor rind, although as 

sour as ever, 



Must season soon the draff we give 

our grunters, 
For two-legged things are weary 

on 't. 
The Chamberlain, a Comedy. 

Things needful we have thought 

on ; but the thing 
Of all most needful — that which 

Scripture terms, 
As if alone it merited regard, 
The one thing needful — that 's 

yet unconsidered. 

The Chamberlain. 

Ah ! mark the matron well — and 
laugh not, Harry, 

At her old steeple-hat and velvet 
guard — 

I 've called her like the ear of Di- 
onysius ; 

I mean that ear-formed vault, built 
o'er the dungeon 

To catch the groans and discon- 
tented murmurs 

Of his poor bondsmen. — Even so 
doth Martha 

Drink up for her own purpose all 
that passes, 

Or is supposed to pass, in this wide 
city — 

She can retail it too, if that her 
profit 

Shall call on her to do so ; and re- 
tail it 

For your advantage, so that you 
can make 

Your profit jump with hers. 

The Conspiracy. 

Bid not thy fortune troll upon the 

wheels 
Of yonder dancing cups of mottled 

bone; 
And drown it not, like Egypt's 

royal harlot, 
Dissolving her rich pearl in the 

brimmed wine-cup. 
These are the arts, Lothario, 

which shrink acres 



670 



APPENDIX 



Into brief yards — bring sterling 

pounds to farthings, 
Credit to infamy; and the poor 

gull, 

Who might have lived an honored, 

easy life, 
To ruin and an unregarded grave. 
The Changes. 

This is the very barn-yard 

Where muster daily the prime 
cocks o' the game, 

Ruffle their pinions, crow till they 
are hoarse, 

And spar about a barleycorn. 
Here, too, chickens, 

The callow unfledged brood of for- 
ward folly, 

Learn first to rear the crest, and 
aim the spur, 

And tune their note like full- 
plumed Chanticleer. 

The Bear Garden. 

Let the proud salmon gorge the 

feathered hook, 
Then strike, and then you have 

him. — He will wince ; 
Spin out your line that it shall 

whistle from you 
Some twenty yards or so, yet you 

shall have him — 
Marry ! you must have patience — 

the stout rock 
Which in his trust hath edges 

something sharp ; 
And the deep pool hath ooze and 

sludge enough 
To mar your fishing— 'less you 

are more careful. 
Albion, or the Double Kings. 

Give way — give way — I must 

and will have justice, 
And tell me not of privilege and 

place ; 
Where I am injured, there I '11 sue 

redress. 
Look to it, every one who bars my 

access ; 
I have a heart to feel the injury, 



A hand to right myself, and, by 
my honor, 

That hand shall grasp what gray- 
beard Law denies me. 

The Chamberlain. 

Come hither, young one — Mark 

me ! Thou art now 
'Mongst men o' the sword, that 

live by reputation 
More than by constant income — 

Single-suited 
They are, I grant you; yet each 

single suit 
Maintains, on the rough guess, a 

thousand followers — 
And they be men who, hazarding 

their all, 
Needful apparel, necessary in- 
come, 
And human body, and immortal 

soul, 
Do in the very deed but hazard 

nothing — 
So strictly is that all bound in 

reversion ; 
Clothes to the broker, income to 

the usurer, — 
And body to disease, and soul to 

the foul fiend ; 
Who laughs to see Soldadoes and 

fooladoes 
Play better than himself his game 

on earth. 

The Mohocks, 

Mother. What! dazzled by a 
flash of Cupid's mirror, 
With which the boy, as mortal 

urchins wont, 
Flings back the sunbeam in the 

eye of passengers — 
Then laughs to see them stum- 
ble! 
Daughter. Mother! no — 

It was a lightning-flash which daz- 
zled me, 
And never shall these eyes see 
true again. 
Beef and Pudding, an Old Eng* 
lish Comedy. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



671 



By this good light, a wench of 

matchless mettle ! 
This were a leaguer-lass to love a 

soldier, 
To bind his wounds, and kiss his 

bloody brow, 
And sing a roundel as she helped 

to arm him, 
Though the rough foeman's drums 

were beat so nigh 
They seemed to bear the burden. 
Old Play. 

Credit me, friend, it hath been 
ever thus 

Since the ark rested on Mount 
Ararat. 

False man hath sworn, and wo- 
man hath believed — 

Repented and reproached, and 
then believed once more. 
The New World. 

Rove not from pole to pole — the 

man lives here 
Whose razor's only equalled by 

his beer ; 
And where, in either sense, the 

cockney-put 
May, if he pleases, get confounded 

cut. 
On the Sign of an Alehouse kept 
by a Barber. 

Chance will not do the work — 
Chance sends the breeze ; 

But if the pilot slumber at the 
helm, 

The very wind that wafts us to- 
wards the port 

May dash us on the shelves. — The 
steersman's part is vigilance, 

Blow it or rough or smooth. 

Old Play. 

This is the time — Heaven's maid- 
en sentinel 

Hath quitted her high watch — the 
lesser spangles 

Are paling one by one ; give me 
the ladder 



And the short lever — bid An- 
thony 

Keep with his carabine the wick- 
et-gate ; 

And do thou bare thy knife and 
follow me, 

For we will in and do it — dark- 
ness like this 

Is dawning of our fortunes. 

Old Play. 

Death finds us mid our play- 
things — snatches us, 

As a cross nurse might do a way- 
ward child, 

From all our toys and baubles. 
His rough call 

Unlooses all our favorite ties on 
earth ; 

And well if they are such as may 
be answered 

In yonder world, where all is 
judged of truly. 

Old Play. 

Give us good voyage, gentle 
stream — we stun not 

Thy sober ear with sounds of rev- 
elry, 

Wake not the slumbering echoes 
of thy banks 

With voice of flute and horn — we 
do but seek 

On the broad pathway of thy 
swelling bosom 

To glide in silent safety. 

The Double Bridal. 

This way lie safety and a sure re- 
treat ; 

Yonder lie danger, shame, and 
punishment. 

Most welcome danger then — nay, 
let. me say, 

Though spoke with swelling heart 
— welcome e'en shame ; 

And welcome punishment— for, 
call me guilty, 

I do but pay the tax that's due to 
justice ; 



672 



APPENDIX 



And call me guiltless, then that 

punishment 
Is shame to those alone who do 

inflict it. 

The Tribunal. 

How fares the man on whom good 
men would look 

With eyes where scorn and cen- 
sure combated, 

But that kind Christian love hath 
taught the lesson — 

That they who merit most con- 
tempt and hate 

Do most deserve our pity — 

Old Play. 

Marry, come up, sir, with your 
gentle blood ! 

Here 's a red stream beneath this 
coarse blue doublet 

That warms the heart as kindly as 
if drawn 

From the far source of old Assyr- 
ian kings, 

Who first made mankind subject 
to their sway. 

Old Play. 

We are not worse at once — the 

course of evil 
Begins so slowly and from such 

slight source, 
An infant's hand might stem its 

breach with clay ; 
But let the stream get deeper, and 

philosophy — 
Ay, and religion too — shall strive 

in vain 
To turn the headlong torrent. 

Old Play. 



FROM PEVERIL OF THE 
PEAK 

Why then, we will have bellow- 
ing of beeves, 

Broaching of barrels, brandishing 
of spigots ; 



Blood shall flow freely, but it shall 

be gore 
Of herds and flocks and venison 

and poultry, 
Joined to the brave heart' s-blood 

of John-a-Barleycorn ! 

Old Play. 

No, sir, I will not pledge — I 'm 
one of those 

Who think good wine needs nei- 
ther bush nor preface 

To make it welcome. If you doubt 
my word, 

Fill the quartcup, and see if I will 
choke on 't. 

Old Play. 

You shall have no worse prison 

than my chamber, 
Nor jailer than myself. 

The Captain. 

Ascasto. Can she not speak ? 
Oswald. If speech be only in 

accented sounds, 
Framed by the tongue and lips, 

the maiden's dumb; 
But if by quick and apprehensive 

look, 
By motion, sign, and glance, to 

give each meaning, 
Express as clothed in language, be 

termed speech, 
She hath that wondrous faculty; 

for her eyes, 
Like the bright stars of heaven, 

can hold discourse, 
Though it be mute and soundless. 
Old Play. 

This is a love meeting? See the 

maiden mourns, 
And the sad suitor bends his looks 

on earth. 
There 'smore hath passed between 

them than belongs 
To Love's sweet sorrows. 

Old Play. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



673 



Now, hoist the anchor, mates — 
and let the sails 

Give their broad bosom to the bux- 
om wind, 

Like lass that woos a lover. 

Anonymous. 

He was a fellow in a peasant's 

garb ; 
Yet one could censure you a 

woodcock's carving, 
Like any courtier at the ordinary. 
The Ordinary. 

We meet, as men see phantoms in 

a dream, 
Which glide and sigh and sign and 

move their lips, 
But make no sound ; or, if they 

utter voice, 
'T is but a low and undistinguished 

moaning, 
Which has nor word nor sense of 

uttered sound. 

The Chieftain. 

The course of human life is 
changeful still 

As is the fickle wind and wander- 
ing rill ; 

Or, like the light dance which the 
wild-breeze weaves 

Amidst the faded race of fallen 
leaves ; 

Which now its breath bears down, 
now tosses high, 

Beats to the earth, or wafts to 
middle sky. 

Such, and so varied, the precari- 
ous play 

Of fate with man, frail tenant of a 
day ! 

Anonymous. 

Necessity — thou best of peace- 
makers, 

As well as surest prompter of in- 
vention — 

Help us to composition ! 

Anonymous. 



This is some creature of the ele- 
ments 

Most like your sea-gull. He can 
wheel and whistle 

His screaming song, e'en when the 
storm is loudest — 

Take for his sheeted couch the 
restless foam 

Of the wild wave-crest — slumber 
in the calm, 

And dally with the storm. Yet 
't is a gull, 

An arrant gull, with all this. 

The Chieftain. 

I fear the devil worst when gown 

and cassock, 
Or in the lack of them, old Calvin's 

cloak, 
Conceals his cloven hoof. 

Anonymous. 

'T is the black ban-dog of our jail 
— pray look on him, 

I But at a wary distance — rouse 
him not— 

I He bays not till he worries. 

The Black Bog of Newgate. 

1 ' Speak not of niceness, when 
there 's chance of wreck/ 

The captain said, as ladies writhed 
their neck 

To see the dying dolphin flap the 
deck : 

' If we go down, on us these gen- 
try sup ; 

We dine upon them, if we haul 
them up. 

Wise men applaud us when we 
eat the eaters, 

As the devil laughs when keen 
folks cheat the cheaters.' 
The Sea Voyage. 

Contentions fierce, 
Ardent, and dire, spring from no 
petty cause. 

Albion. 



674 



APPENDIX 



He came amongst them like a 

new-raised spirit, 
•To speak of dreadful judgments 

that impend, 
And of the wrath to come. 

The Reformer. 

And some for safety took the 

dreadful leap ; 
Some for the voice of Heaven 

seemed calling on them ; 
Some for advancement, or for 

lucre's sake — 
I leaped in frolic. 

The Dream. 

High feasting was there there — 
the gilded roofs 

Rung to the wassail-health — the 
dancer's step 

Sprung to the chord responsive — 
the gay gamester 

To fate's disposal flung his heap 
of gold, 

And laughed alike when it in- 
creased or lessened : 

Such virtue hath court-air to teach 
us patience 

Which schoolmen preach in vain. 
Why come ye not to Court ? 

Here stand I tight and trim, 
Quick of eye, though little of limb ; 
He who denieth the word I have 

spoken, 
Betwixt him and me shall lances 

be broken. 
Lay of the Little John de 

Saintre. 



FROM QUENTIN DURWARD 

Painters show Cupid blind — 
hath Hymen eyes ? 

Or is his sight warped by those 
spectacles 

Which parents, guardians, and ad- 
visers lend him 

That he may look through them 
on lands and mansions, 



On jewels, gold, and all such rich 

donations, 
And see their value ten times 

magnified ? — 
Me thinks 't will brook a ques- 
tion. 
The Miseries of Enforced Mar- 
riage. 

This is a lecturer so skilled in 
policy 

That — no disparagement to Sa- 
tan's cunning — 

He well might read a lesson to the 
devil, 

And teach the old seducer new 
temptations. 

Old Play. 

I see thee yet, fair France — thou 

favored land 
Of art and nature — thou art still 

before me ; 
Thy sons, to whom their labor is a 

sport, 
So well thy grateful soil returns 

its tribute ; 
Thy sunburnt daughters, with 

their laughing eyes 
And glossy raven-locks. But, fa- 
vored France, 
Thou hast had many a tale of woe 

to tell, 
In ancient times as now. 

Anonymous. 

He was a son of Egypt, as he told 

me, 
And one descended from those 

dread magicians 
Who waged rash war, when Israel 

dwelt in Goshen, 
With Israel and her Prophet — 

matching rod 
With his the son of Levi's — and 

encountering 
Jehovah's miracles within canta- 

tions, 
Till upon Egypt came the aveng- 
ing Angel, 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



675 



And those proud sages wept for 

their first-born, 
As wept the unlettered peasant. 
Anonymous. 

Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am 

your captive : 
Deal with me what your nobleness 

suggests — 
Thinking the chance of war may 

one day place you 
Where I must now be reckoned — 

i' the roll 
Of melancholy prisoners. 

Anonymous. 

No human quality is so well wove 

In warp and woof but there 's 
some flaw in it ; 

I 've known a brave man fly a 
shepherd's cur, 

A wise man so demean him drivel- 
ling idiocy 

Had wellnigh been ashamed on 't. 
For your crafty, 

Your wordly-wise man, he, above 
the rest, 

Weaves his own snares so fine he 's 
often caught in them. 

Old Play. 

When Princes meet, astrologers 

may mark it 
An ominous conjunction, full of 

boding, 
Like that of Mars with Saturn. 
Old Play. 

Thy time is not yet out— the 

devil thou servest 
Has not as yet deserted thee. He 

aids 
The friends who drudge for him, as 

the blind man 
Was aided by the guide, who lent 

his shoulder 
O'er rough and smooth, until he 

reached the brink 
Of the fell precipice — then hurled 

him downward. 

Old Play. 



Our counsels waver like the un- 
steady bark, 

That reels amid the strife of meet- 
ing currents. 

Old Play. 

Hold fast thy truth, young sol- 

dier. — Gentle maiden, 
Keep you your promise plight — 

leave age its subtleties, 
And gray-haired policy its maze of 

falsehood ; 
But be you candid as the morning 

sky, 
Ere the high sun sucks vapors up 

to stain it. 

The Trial. 



FROM SAINT RONAN'S 
WELL 

Quis novus hie hospes? 

Dido apud Virgilium. 

Ch'm-maid ! — The Genman in the 
front parlor I 
Boots's free Translation of the 
Mneid. 

There must be government in all 

society — 
Bees have their Queen, and stag 

herds have their leader ; 
Rome had her Consuls, Athens 

had her Archons, 
And we, sir, have our Managing 

Committee. 
The Album of Saint Ronans. 

Come, let me have thy councillor 

I need it; 
Thou art of those, who better help 

their friends 
With sage advice, than usurers 

with gold, 
Or brawlers with their swords — 

I '11 trust to thee, 
For I ask only from thee words, 

not deeds. 
The Devil hath met his Match. 



6y6 



APPENDIX 



Nearest of blood should still be 


And darksome as a widow's veil, 


next in love ; 


Cake — keeps her seat behind. 


And when I see these happy chil- 


Horace. 


dren playing, 




While William gathers flowers for 


What sheeted ghost is wandering 


Ellen's ringlets 


through the storm? 


And Ellen dresses flies for Wil- 


For never did a maid of middle 


liam's angle, 


earth 


I scarce can think that in advan- 


Choose such a time or spot to vent 


cing life 


her sorrows. 


Coldness, unkindness, interest, or 


Old Play. 


suspicion 




Will e'er divide that unity so sa- 


Here come we to our close — for 


cred, 


that which follows 


Which Nature bound at birth. 


Is but the tale of dull, unvaried 


Anonymous. 


misery. 




Steep crags and headlong lins may 


Oh ! you would be a vestal maid, 


court the pencil 


I warrant, 


Like sudden haps, dark plots, and 


The bride of Heaven — Come — we 


strange adventures ; 


may shake your purpose : 


But who would paint the dull and 


For here I bring in hand a jolly 


fog-wrapt moor 


suitor 


In its long tract of sterile desola- 


Hath ta'en degrees in the seven 


tion ? 


sciences 


Old Play. 


That ladies love best— He is 




young and noble, 




Handsome and valiant, gay and 


FROM THE BETROTHED 


rich, and liberal. 




The Nun. 


In Madoc's tent the clarion 




sounds, 


It comes — it wrings me in my 


With rapid clangor hurried far ; 


parting hour, 


Each hill and dale the note re- 


The long-hid crime — the well-dis- 


bounds, 


guised guilt. 


But when return the sons of 


Bring me some holy priest to lay 


war? 


the spectre ! 


Thou, born of stern Necessity, 


Old Play. 


Dull Peace! the valley yields 




to thee, 




And owns thy melancholy 


SEDET POST EQUITEM ATRA 


sway. 


CUBA — 


Welsh Poem. 


Still though the headlong cava- 


0, sadly shines the morning 


lier, 


sun 


O'er rough and smooth, in wild 


On leaguered castle wall, 


career, 


When bastion, tower, and battle- 


Seems racing with the wind ; 


ment 


His sad companion — ghastly 


Seem nodding to their fall. 


pale, 


Old Ballad. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



677 



Now, all ye ladies of fair Scot- 
land, 
And ladies of England that 
happy would prove, 
Marry never for houses, nor marry 
for land, 
Nor marry for nothing but only 
love. 

Family Quarrels. 

Too much rest is rust, 
There »s ever cheer in chang- 
ing; 
We tyne by too much trust, 
So we '11 be up and ranging. 

Old Song. 

Ring out the merry bells, the 

bride approaches. 
The blush upon her cheek has 

shamed the morning, 
For that is dawning palely. Grant, 

good saints, 
These clouds betoken naught of 

evil omen! 

Old Play. 

Julia, Gentle sir, 

You are our captive — but we '11 

use you so, 
That you shall think your prison 

joys may match 
Whate'er your liberty hath known 
of pleasure. 
Roderick. No, fairest, we have 
trifled here too long : 
And, lingering to see your roses 

blossom, 
I 've let my laurels wither. 

Old Play. 



FROM THE TALISMAN 

This is the Prince of Leeches; 
fever, plague, 

Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do 
but look on him, 

And quit their grasp upon the tor- 
tured sinews. 

Anonymous. 



One thing is certain in our 
Northern land, 

Allow that birth or valor, wealth 
or wit, 

Give each precedence to their 
possessor, 

Envy, that follows on such emi- 
nence 

As comes the lyme-hound on the 
roebuck's trace, 

Shall pull them down each one. 
Sir David Lindsay. 

You talk of Gayety and Inno- 
cence! • 
The moment when the fatal fruit 

was eaten, 
They parted ne'er to meet again ; 

and Malice 
Has ever since been playmate to 

light Gayety, 
From the first moment when the 

smiling infant 
Destroys the flower or butterfly 

he toys with, 
To the last chuckle of the dying 

miser, 
Who on his death-bed laughs his 

last to hear 
His wealthy neighbor has become 

a bankrupt. 

Old Play. 

'Tis not her sense — for sure, in 
that 
There 's nothing more .than com- 
mon ; 
And all her wit is only chat, 
Like any other woman. 

Song. 

Were every hair upon his head a 
life, 

And every life were to be suppli- 
cated 

By numbers equal to those hairs 
quadrupled, 

Life after life should out like wan- 
ing stars 

Before the daybreak — or as fes- 
tive lamps, 



678 



APPENDIX 



Which have lent lustre to the mid- 


Will sway it from the truth and 


night revel, 


wreck the argosy. 


Each after each are quenched 


Even this small cause of anger 


when guests depart. 


and disgust 


Old Play. 


Will break the bonds of amity 




'mongst princes 


Must we then sheathe our still 


And wreck their noblest purposes. 


victorious sword ; 


The Crusade. 


Turn back our forward step, which 




ever trode 


The tears I shed must ever fall ! 


O'er foemen's necks the onward 


I weep not for an absent swain, 


path of glory ; 


For time may happier hours re- 


Unclasp the mail, which with a 


call, 


solemn vow 


And parted lovers meet again. 


In God's own house we hung upon 




our shoulders ; 


I weep not for the silent dead, 


That vow, as unaccomplished as 


Their pains are past, their sor- 


the promise 


rows o'er, 


Which village nurses make to still 


And those that loved their steps 


their children, 


must tread, 


And after think no more of ? 


When death shall join to part 


The Crusade, a Tragedy. 


no more. 


When beauty leads the lion in 


But worse than absence, worse 


her tojls, 


than death, 


Such are her charms he dare not 


She wept her lover's sullied fame, 


raise his mane, 


And, fired with all the pride of 


Far less expand the terror of his 


birth, 


fangs ; 


She wept a soldier's injured 


So great Alcides made his club a 


name. 


distaff, 


Ballad. 


And spun to please fair Omphale. 




Anonymous. 






FROM WOODSTOCK 


Mid these wild scenes Enchant- 




ment waves her hand, 


Come forth, old man — thy daugh- 


To change the face of the myste- 


ter's side 


rious land ; 


Is now the fitting place for thee : 


Till the bewildering scenes around 


When Time hath quelled the oak's 


us seem 


bold pride, 


The vain productions of a feverish 


The youthful tendril yet may hide 


dream. 


The ruins of the parent tree. 


Astolpho, a Romance. 






Now, ye wild blades, that make 


A GRAIN Of dust 


loose inns your stage, 


Soiling our cup, will make our 


To vapor forth the acts of this sad 


sense reject 


age, 


Fastidiously the draught which we 


Stout Edgehill fight, the Newber- 


did thirst for ; 


ries and the West, 


A rusted nail, placed near the 


And northern clashes, where you 


faithful compass, 


still fought best ; 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



679 



Your strange escapes, your dan- 
gers void of fear, 
When bullets flew between the 

head and ear, 
Whether you fought by Damme or 
the Spirit, 
Of you I speak. 

Legend of Captain Jones. 

Yon path of greensward 

Winds round by sparry grot and 
gay pavilion ; 

There is no flint to gall thy tender 
foot, 

There 's ready shelter from each 
breeze or shower. — 

But Duty guides not that way — 
see her stand, 

With wand entwined with ama- 
ranth, near yon cliffs. 

Oft where she leads thy blood 
must mark thy footsteps, 

Oft where she leads thy head must 
bear the storm, 

And thy shrunk form endure heat, 
cold, and hunger ; 

But she will guide thee up to noble 
heights, 

Which he who gains seems native 
of the sky, 

While earthly things lie stretched 
beneath his feet, 

Diminished, shrunk, and value- 
less— 

Anonymous. 

My tongue pads slowly under this 

new language, 
And starts and stumbles at these 

uncouth phrases. 
They may be great in worth and 

weight, but hang 
Upon the native glibness of my 

language 
Like Saul's plate-armor on the 

shepherd boy, 
Encumbering and not arming him. 

J.B. 



Here we have one head 
Upon two bodies — your 
headed bullock 



two- 



Is but an ass to such a prodigy. 
These two have but one meaning, 

thought, and counsel ; 
And when the single noddle has 

spoke out, 
The four legs scrape assent to it. 
Old Play. 

Deeds are done on earth 
Which have their punishment ere 

the earth closes 
Upon the perpetrators. Be it the 

working 
Of the remorse-stirred fancy, or 

the vision, 
Distinct and real, of unearthly 

being, 
All ages witness that beside the 

couch 
Of the fell homicide oft stalks 

the ghost 
Of him he slew, and shows the 

shadowy wound. 

Old Play. 

We do that in our zeal 
Our calmer moments are afraid to 
answer. 

Anonymous, 

The deadliest snakes are those 
which, twined 'mongst flow- 
ers, 

Blend their bright coloring with 
the varied blossoms, 

Their fierce eyes glittering like 
the spangled dew-drop ; 

In all so like what nature has 
most harmless, 

That sportive innocence, which 
dreads no danger, 

Is poisoned unawares. 

Old Play. 



FROM CHRONICLES OF THE 
CANONGATE 

Were ever such two loving 
friends ! — 
How could they disagree ? 



68o 



APPENDIX 



O, thus it was: he loved him 
dear, 
And thought but to requite him ; 
And, having no friend left but he, 
He did resolve to fight him. 

Duke upon Duke. 

There are times 
When Fancy plays her gambols, 

in despite 
Even of our watchful senses, when 

in sooth 
Substance seems shadow, shadow 

substance seems, 
When the broad, palpable, and 

marked partition 
'Twixt that which is and is not, 

seems dissolved, 
As if the mental eye gained power 

to gaze 
B.eyond the limits of the existing 

world. 
Such hours of shadowy dreams I 

better love 
Than all the gross realities of life. 
Anonymous. 



FROM THE FAIR MAID OF 
PERTH 

The ashes here of murdered kings 
Beneath my footsteps sleep ; 

And yonder lies the scene of death 
Where Mary learned to weep. 
Captain Marjoribanks. 

4 Behold the Tiber ! ' the vain 

Roman cried, 
Viewing the ample Tay from Baig- 

lie's side ; 
But where 's the Scot that would 

the vaunt repay, 
And hail the puny Tiber for the 

Tay. 

Anonymous. 

Fair is the damsel, passing fair — 
Sunny at distance gleams her 
smile ! 



Approach — the cloud of woful 
care 
Hangs trembling in her eye the 
while.* 

Lucinda, a Ballad. 

O for a draught of power to 

steep 
The soul of agony in sleep ! 

Bertha. 

Lo! where he lies embalmed in 
gore, 
His wound to Heaven cries ; 
The floodgates of his blood im- 
plore 
For vengeance from the skies. 
Uranus and Psyche. 



FROM ANNE OF GEIER- 
STEIN 

Cursed be the gold and silver 
which persuade 

Weak man to follow far fatiguing 
trade. 

The lily, peace, outshines the sil- 
ver store, 

And life is dearer than the golden 
ore. 

Yet money tempts us o'er the des- 
ert brown 

To every distant mart and wealthy 
town. 
Hassan, or the Camel Driver. 

I was one 

Who loved the greenwood bank 
and lowing herd, 

The russet prize, the lowly peas- 
ant's life, 

Seasoned with sweet content, more 
than the halls 

Where revellers feast to fever- 
height. Believe me, 

There ne'er was poison mixed in 
maple bowl. 

Anonymous. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



681 



When we two meet, we meet like 

rushing torrents ; 
Like warring winds, like flames 

from various points, 
That mate each other's fury — 

there is naught 
Of elemental strife, were fiends to 

guide it, 
Can match the wrath of man. 

Frenaud. 

We know not when we sleep nor 

when we wake. 
Visions distinct and perfect cross 

our eye, 
Which to the slumberer seem 

realities ; 
And while they waked, some men 

have seen such sights 
As set at naught the evidence of 

sense, 
And left them well persuaded they 

were dreaming. 

Anonymous. 

These be the adept's doctrines — 

every element 
Is peopled with its separate race 

of spirits. 
The airy Sylphs on the blue ether 

float; 
Deep in the earthy cavern skulks 

the Gnome ; 
The sea-green Naiad skims the 

ocean-billow, 
And the fierce fire is yet a friendly 

home 
To its peculiar sprite — the Sala- 
mander. 

Anonymous. 

Upox the Rhine, upon the Rhine 
they cluster, 
The grapes of juice divine, 
Which make the soldier's jovial 
courage muster ; 
O, blessed be the Rhine ! 

Drinking Song. 



Tell me not of it — I could ne'er 

abide 
The mummery of all that forced 

civility. 
1 Pray, seat yourself, my lord.' 

With cringing hams 
The speech is spoken, and with 

bended knee 
Heard by the smiling courtier, — 

1 Before you, sir ? 
It must be on the earth, then.' 

Hang it all ! 
The pride which cloaks itself in 

such poor fashion 
Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar's 

bosom. 

Old Play. 

A mirthful man he was — the 
snows of age 

Fell, but they did not chill him. 
Gayety, 

Even in life's closing, touched his 
teeming brain 

With such wild visions as the set- 
ting sun 

Raises in front of some hoar 
glacier, 

Painting the bleak ice with a thou- 
sand hues. 

Old Play. 

Ay, this is he who wears the 

wreath of bays 
Wove by Apollo and the Sisters 

Nine, 
Which Jove's dread lightning 

scathes not. He hath doft 
The cumbrous helm of steel, and 

flung aside 
The yet more galling diadem of 

gold; 
While, with a leafy circlet round 

his brows, 
He reigns the King of Lovers and 

of Poets. 

Want you a man 
Experienced in the world and its 
affairs ? 



682 



APPENDIX 



Here he is for your purpose. — 
He 's a monk. 

He hath forsworn the world and 
all its work — 

The rather that he knows it pass- 
ing well, 

'Special the worst of it, for he 's a 
monk. 

Old Play. 

Toll, toll the bell ! 
Greatness is o'er, 
The heart has broke, 
To ache no more ; 
An unsubstantial pageant all — 
Drop o'er the scene the funeral 
pall. 

Old Poem. 

Here 's a weapon now 
Shall shake a conquering general 

in his tent, 
A monarch on his throne, or reach 

a prelate, 
However holy be his offices, 
E'en while he serves the altar. 
Old Play. 



FROM COUNT ROBERT OF 
PARIS 

Othus. This superb successor 
Of the earth's mistress, as thou 

vainly speakest, 
Stands midst these ages as, on the 

wide ocean, 
The last spared fragment of a 

spacious land, 
That in some grand and awful 

ministration 
Of mighty nature has engulfed 

been, 
Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky 

cliffs 
O'er the wild waste around, and 

sadly frowns 
In lonely majesty. 

Constantine Paleologus, 
Scene I. 



Here, youth, thy foot unbrace, 

Here, youth, thy brow un- 
braid, 
Each tribute that may grace 

The threshold here be paid. 
Walk with the stealthy pace 

Which Nature teaches deer, 
When, echoing in the chase, 

The hunter's horn they hear. 
The Court. 

The storm increases — 't is no 

sunny shower, 
Fostered in the moist breast of 

March or April, 
Or such as parched Summer cools 

his lip with ; 
Heaven's windows are flung wide ; 

the inmost deeps 
Call in hoarse greeting one upon 

another ; 
On comes the flood in all its foam- 
ing horrors, 
And where 's the dike shall stop 

it! 

The Deluge, a Poem. 

Vain man! thou mayst esteem 
thy love as fair 

As fond hyperboles suffice to 
raise. 

She may be all that 's matchless 
in her person, 

And all-divine in soul to match 
her body ; 

But take this from me — thou 
shalt never call her 

Superior to her sex while one sur- 
vives 

And I am her true votary. 

Old Play. 

Through the vain webs which 
puzzle sophists' skill, 
Plain sense and honest meaning 
work their way ; 
So sink the varying clouds upon 
the hill 
When the clear dawning bright- 
ens into day. 

Dr. Watts. 



MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 



683 



Between the foaming jaws of 

the white torrent 
The skilful artist draws a sudden 

mound ; 
By level long he subdivides their 

strength, 
Stealing the waters from their 

rocky bed, 
First to diminish what he means 

to conquer ; 
Then, for the residue he forms a 

road, 
Easy to keep, and painful to de- 
sert, 
And guiding to the end the planner 

aimed at. 

The Engineer. 

These were wild times — the an- 
tipodes of ours : 
Ladies were there who oftener 

saw themselves 
In the broad lustre of a foeman's 

shield 
Than in a mirror, and who rather 

sought 
To match themselves in battle 

than in dalliance 
To meet a lover's onset. — But 

though Nature 
Was outraged thus, she was not 

overcome. 

Feudal Times. 

Without a ruin, broken, tangled, 
cumbrous, 

Within it was a little paradise, 

Where Taste had made her dwell- 
ing. Statuary, 

First-born of human art, moulded 
her images 

And bade men mark and worship. 
Anonymous. 

The parties met. The wily, wordy 
Greek, 

Weighing each word, and canvass- 
ing each syllable, 

Evading, arguing, equivocating. 

And the stern Frank came with 
his two-hand sword, 



Watching to see which way the 

balance sways, 
That he may throw it in and turn 

the scales. 

Palestine. 

Strange ape of man ! who loathes 

thee while he scorns thee ; 
Half a reproach to us and half a 

jest. 
What fancies can be ours ere we 

have pleasure 
In viewing our own form, our pride 

and passions, 
Reflected in a shape grotesque as 

thine ! 

Anonymous. 

'T is strange that in the dark sul- 
phureous mine 

Where wild ambition piles its rip- 
ening stores 

Of slumbering thunder, Love will 
interpose 

His tiny torch, and cause the stern 
explosion 

To burst when the deviser 's least 
aware. 

Anonymous. 

All is prepared — the chambers 

of the mine 
Are crammed with the combusti- 
ble, which, harmless 
While yet unkindled as the sable 

sand, 
Needs but a spark to change its 

nature so 
That he who wakes it from its 

slumbrous mood 
Dreads scarce the explosion less 

than he who knows 
That 'tis his towers which meet 

its fury. 

Anonymous. 

Heaven knows its time ; the bul- 
let has its billet, 

Arrow and javelin each its de- 
stined purpose ; 



68 4 



APPENDIX 



The fated beasts of Nature's lower 

strain 
Have each their separate task. 
Old Play. 



FROM CASTLE DANGEROUS 

A tale of sorrow, for your eyes 

may weep ; 
A tale of horror, for your flesh may 

tingle ; 
A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows 

arch, 
And the flesh curdles if you read 

it rightly. 

Old Play. 

Where is he? Has the deep 

earth swallowed him? 
Or hath he melted like some airy 

phantom 
That shuns the approach of morn 

and the young sun ? 
Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian 

darkness, 
And passed beyond the circuit of 

the sight 
With things of the night's shadows? 
Anonymous. 

The way is long, my children, long 

and rough — 
The moors are dreary and the 

woods are dark ; 



But he that creeps from cradle on 

to grave, 
Unskilled save in the velvet course 

of fortune, 
Hath missed the discipline of noble 

hearts. 

Old Play. 

His talk was of another world — 

his bodements 
Strange, doubtful, and mysterious ; 

those who heard him 
Listened as to a man in feverish 

dreams, 
Who speaks of other objects than 

the present, 
And mutters like to him who sees 

a vision. 

Old Play. 

Cry the wild war-note, let the 

champions pass. 
Do bravely each, and God defend 

the right ; 
Upon Saint Andrew thrice can 

they thus cry, 
And thrice they shout on height, 
And then marked them on the 

Englishmen, 
As I have told you right. 
Saint George the bright, our ladies' 

knight, 
To name they were full fain ; 
Our Englishmen they cried on 

height, 
And thrice they shout again. 

Old Ballad. 



INDEXES 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



[Including the first lines of songs contained in the longer poems. J 



A cat of yore — or else old iEsop 
lied, — 593. 

A courtier extraordinary, who by diet, 
662. 

A grain of dust, 678. 

A mirthful man he was — the snows of 
age, 681. 

A priest, ye cry, a priest ! — lame shep- 
herds they, 661. 

A tale of sorrow, for your eyes may 
weep, 684. 

A weary month has wandered o'er, 570. 

Admire not that I gained the prize, 649. 

Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 633. 

Ah ! mark the matron well — and laugh 
not, Harry, 669. 

Ah, poor Louise ! the livelong day, 644. 

All is prepared — the chambers of the 
mine, 683. 

All joy was bereft me the day that you 
left me, 548. 

All your ancient customs, 667. 

Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
338. 

Amid these aisles where once his pre- 
cepts showed, 552. 

An hour with thee ! When earliest 
day, 643. 

And art thou cold and lowly laid, 277. 

And be he safe restored ere evening 
set, 657. 

And did ye not hear of a mirth befell, 
563. 

And Need and Misery, Vice and Dan- 
ger, bind, 658. 

And ne'er but once, my son, he says, 27. 

And some for safety took the dreadful 
leap, 674. 

And when Love's torch has set the 
heart in flame, 664. 

And whither would you lead me then, 
363. 



And you shall deal the funeral dole, 624. 
Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 608. 
Approach the chamber, look upon his 

bed, 660. 
Arouse thee, youth ! — it is no common 

call, — 656. 
Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 

660. 
As lords their laborers' hire delay, 636. 
As the worn war-horse, at the trum- 
pet's sound, 590. 
As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle- 
sound, 658. 
Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and 

Old Wine, 632, 
At school I knew him — a sharp-witted 

youth, 663. 
Autumn departs — but still its mantle's 

fold, 421. , 

Ave Maria ! maiden mild ! 237. 
Away ! our journey lies through dell 

and dingle, 659. 
Ay, Pedro, come you here with mask 

and lantern, 665. 
Ay, sir — our ancient crown, in these 

wild times, 665. 
Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes 

craft in % 669. 
Ay, this is he who wears the wreath of 

bays, 681. 

' Behold the Tiber ! ' the vain Roman 

cried, 680. 
Between the foaming jaws of the white 

torrent, 683. 
Bid not thy fortune troll upon the 

wheels, 669. 
Birds of omen dark and foul, 604. 
Bold knights and fair dames, to my 

harp give an ear, 23. 
Bring the bowl which you boast, 643. 
But follow, follow me, 568. 



688 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 






By pathless march, by greenwood tree, 
642. 

By this good light, a wench of match- 
less metal, 671. 

Canny moment, lucky fit, 576. 

Can she not speak, 672. 

Carle, now the King 's come, 629. 

Champion famed for warlike toil, 625. 

Ch'm-maid ! — The Genman in the front 

parlor, 675. 
Come forth, old man — thy daughter's 

side, 678. 
Come hither, young one — Mark me! 

Thou art now, 670. 
Come, let me have thy council, for I 

need it, 675. 
Come, Lucy, while 'tis morning hour, 

384. 
Contentions fierce, 673. 
Cry the wild war-note, let the cham- 
pions pass, 684. 
Cursed be the gold and silver which 

persuade, 680. 

Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still, 639. 

Dark on their journey loured the 
gloomy day, 659. 

Dark shall be light, 577. 

Dear John, — I some time ago wrote to 
inform his, 636. ' 

Death distant ? — No, alas ! he 's ever 
with us, 664. 

Death finds us mid our play-things — 
snatches us, 671. 

Deeds are done on earth, 679. 

Dinas Em linn, lament ; for the moment 
is nigh, 546. 

Dire was his thought who first in poi- 
son steeped, 657. 

Donald Caird 's come again, 594. 

Dust unto dust, 609. 

Emblem of England's ancient faith, 

567. 
Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has 

decoyed me, 628. 

Fair Brussels, thou art far behind, 497. 
Fair is the damsel, passing fair, 680. 
Far as the eye could reach no tree was 

seen, 657. 
Far in the bosom of the deep, 560. 



Fare thee well, thou Holly green ! 616. 
Farewell ! farewell ! the voice you hear, 

623. 
Farewell, merry maidens, to song and 

to laugh, 623. 
Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of 

the North, 569. 
Farewell to Northmaven, 618. 
Farewell to the land where the clouds 

love to rest, 657. 
Fathoms deep beneath the wave, 619. 
For all our men were very very merry, 

635. 
For leagues along the watery way, 620. 
Forget thee ! No ! my worthy fere ! 643. 
Fortune, my Foe, why dost thou frown 

on me ? 651. 
Fortune, you say, flies from us — She 

but circles, 656. 
Frederick leaves the land of France, 

31. 
From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 1. 
From the brown crest of Newark its 

summons extending, 575. 
From thy Pomeranian throne, 519. 

Gentle sir, You are our captive, 677. 
Give me a morsel on the greensward 

rather, 664. 
Give us good voyage, gentle stream — 

we stun not, 671. 
Give way — give way — I must and will 

have justice, 670. 
Glowing with love, on fire for fame, 

574. 
Good evening, Sir Priest, and so late as 

you ride, 611. 
Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, 30. 

Hail to the Chief who in triumph ad- 
vances ! 218. 

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 315. 

Happy thou art ! then happy be, 658. 

Hark ! the bells summon and the bu- 
gle calls, 666. 

Harp of the North, farewell ! The 
hills grow dark, 282. 

Harp of the North! that mouldering 
long hast hung, 199. 

Hawk and osprey screamed for joy, 
522. 

He came amongst them like a new- 
raised spirit, 674. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



689 



He came — but valor had so fired his 

eye, 5S1. 
He is gone to the mountain, 232. 
He strikes no coin, 't is true, but coins 

new phrases, 662. 
He was a fellow in a peasant's garb, 

673. 
He was a man Versed in the world as 

pilot in his compass, 665. 
He was a son of Egypt, as he told me, 

674. 
He whose heart for vengeance sued, 615. 
Health to the chieftain from his clans- 
man true ! 560. 
Hear what Highland Nora said, 579. 
Heaven knows its time ; the bullet has 

its billet, 683. 
Heir lyeth John 0' ye Girnell, 581. 
Here come we to our close — for that 

which follows, 676. 
Here has been such a stormy encounter, 

654. 
Here is a father now, 658. 
Here 's a weapon now, 682. 
Here stand I tight and trim, 674. 
Here stands the victim — there the 

proud betrayer, 666. 
Here we have one head, 679. 
Here, youth, thy foot unbrace, 682. 
High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 

605. 
High feasting was there there — the 

gilded roofs, 674. 
High o'er the eastern steep the sun is 

beaming, 666. 
His talk was of another world — his 

bodements, 684. 
Hither we come, 651. 
Hold fast thy truth, young soldier — 

Gentle maiden, 675. 
How fares the man on whom good men 

would look, 672. 

I asked of my harp, ' Who hath injured 

thy chords?' 638. 
I beseech you, — 658. 
I climbed the dark brow of the mighty 

Hellvellyn, 47. 
I do love these ancient ruins, 667. 
I fear the devil worst when gown and 

cassock, 673. 
I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and 

prudent, 653. 



I '11 give thee, good fellow, a twelve- 
month or twain, 606. 

I '11 walk on tiptoe; arm my eye with 
caution, 662. 

I see thee yet, fair France — thou fa- 
vored land, 674. 

I strive like to the vessel in the tide- 
way, 668. 

I was a wild and wayward boy, 359. 

I was one, 680. 

If you fail honor here, 654. 

Ill fares the bark with tackle riven, 
524. 

In awful ruins JStna thunders nigh, 653. 

In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds, 676. 

In respect that your Grace has com- 
missioned a Kraken, 562. 

In some breasts passion lies concealed 
and silent, 664. 

In the wide pile, by others heeded not, 
657. 

In the wild storm. The seaman hews 
his mast down, 663. 

Indifferent, but indifferent — pshaw ! 
he doth it not, 662. 

Is this thy castle, Baldwin? Melan- 
choly, 659. 

It comes — it wrings me in my parting 
hour, 676. 

It chanced that Cupid on a season, 575. 

It is and is not — 't is the thing I sought 
for, 664. 

It is not texts will do it — Church artil- 
lery, 663. 

It is time of danger, not of revel, 665. 

It 's up Glembarchan's braes I gaed, 
564. 

It was a little naughty page, 11. 

It was an English ladye bright, 94. 

It was Dunois, the young and brave, 
was bound for Palestine, 574. 

Joy to the victors, the sons of old As- 
pen, 11. 

Late, when the autumn evening fell, 
564. 

Law, take thy victim ! — May she find 
the mercy, 658. 

Let the proud salmon gorge the feath- 
ered hook, 670. 

Let those go see who will — I like it 
not, 656. 






690 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



Life ebbs from such old age, unmarked 

and silent, 655. 
Life hath its May, and all is mirthful 

then, 663. 
Life, with you, Glows in the brain and 

dances in the arteries, 655. 
Lives there a strain whose sounds of 

mounting fire, 283. 
Lord William was born in gilded bower, 

515. 
Look not thou on beauty's charming, 

603. 
Look round thee, young Astolpho : 

Here 's the place, 657. 
Loud o'er my head though awful thun- 
ders roll, 653. 
Love wakes and weeps, 623. 
Lo! where he lies embalmed in gore, 



Macleod's wizard flag from the gray 

castle sallies, 593. 
Maiden whose sorrows wail the Living 

Dead, 615. 
Many great ones "Would part with half 

their states, 654. 
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 

610. 
Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle 

blood, 672. 
Measures of good and evil, 647. 
Merrily swim we, the moon shines 

bright, 610. 
Merry it is in the good greenwood, 243. 
Mid these wild scenes Enchantment 

waves her hands, 678. 
Mother darksome, Mother dread, 621. 
Must we then sheath our still victorious 

sword, 678. 
My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 

278. 
My hounds may a' rin masterless, 656. 
My tongue pads slowly under this new 

language, 679. 
My wayward fate I needs must plain, 

552. 

Nay, dally not with time, the wise 

man's treasure, 661. 
Nay, hear me, brother — I am elder, 

wiser, 663. 
Nay, let me have the friends who eat 

my victuals, 661. 



Nearest of blood should still be next in 

love, 676. 
Necessity — thou best of peace-makers, 

673. 
Night and morning were at meeting, 57 1 . 
No human quality is so well wove, 675. 
No, sir, I will not pledge — I 'm one of 

those, 672. 
Norman saw on English oak, 606. 
Not serve two masters ? — Here 's a 

youth will try it, 665. 
Not the wild billow, when it breaks its 

barrier, 663. 
November's hail-cloud drifts away, 604. 
November's sky is chill and drear, 101. 
Now, all ye ladies of Scotland, 677. 
Now bid the steeple rock — she comes, 

she comes, 666. 
Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, 't is hard 

reckoning, 662. 
Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt 

wealth and honor, 662. 
Now fare thee well, my master, if true 

service, 666. 
Now God be good to me in this wild 

pilgrimage, 665. 
Now, hoist the anchor, mates— and 

let the sails, 673. 
Now let us sit in conclave. That these 

weeds, 661. 
Now on my faith this gear is all entan- 
gled, 663. 
Now Scot and English are agreed, 668. 

O ay ! the Monks, the Monks, they did 

the mischief ! 660. 
O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 333. 
O, dread was the time, and more 

dreadful the omen, 558. 
O for a draught of power to steep, 680. 
O for a glance of that gay Muse's eye, 

582. 
O for the voice of that wild horn, 591. 
O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! 13. 
O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a 

knight, 577. 
O, I do know him — 'tis the mouldy 

lemon, 669. 
O, lady, twine no wreath for me, 357. 
O listen, listen, ladies gay ! 97. 
O, lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 548. 
O, low shone the sun on the fair lake 

of Toro, 547. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



691 



O maid of Isla from the cliff, 627. 

O, open the door, some pity to show, 

547. 
O, sadly shines the morning sun, 676. 
O, say not, my love, with that mortified 

air, 551. 
O, tell me, Harper, wherefore flow, 557. 
O, thus it was : he loved him dear, 680. 
O, who rides by night thro' the wood- 
land so wild ? 9. 
O, will ye hear a knightly tale of old 

Bohemian day, 599. 
O, will ye hear a mirthful bourd ? 36. 
Of all the birds on bush or tree, 616. 
Of yore, in old England, it was not 

thought good, 636. 
Oh, I 'm come to the Low Country, 

644. 
Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of 

the west, 165. 
Oh ! you would be a vestal maid, I war- 
rant, 676. 
On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 

627. 
On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you boune 

ye to rest, 565. 
Once again, — but how changed since 

my wanderings began, 577. 
One thing is certain in our Northern 

land, 677. 
Our counsels waver like the unsteady 

bark, 675. 
Our vicar still preaches that Peter and 

Poule, 269. 
Over the mountains and under the 



Painters show Cupid blind — hath Hy- 
men eyes ? 674. 

Parental love, my friend, has power 
o'er wisdom, 668. 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 578. 

Plain as her native dignity of mind, 
603. 

Poor sinners whom the snake deceives, 
627. 

Quake to your foundation deep, 418. 

Rash adventurer, bear thee back, 413. 
Red glows the forge in Striguil's 

bounds, 546. 
Remorse — she ne'er forsakes us ! 655. 



Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your 
captive, 675. 

Ring out the merry bells, the bride ap- 
proaches, 677. 

Say not my art is fraud — all live by 

seeming, 660. 
See the treasure Merlin piled, 415. 
See yonder woman, whom our swains 

revere, 667. 
She does no work by halves, yon raving 

ocean, 667. 
' She may be fair,' he sang, ' but yet,' 

525. 
Since here we are set in array round 

the table, 549. 
Sir, stay at home and take an old man's 

counsel, 658. 
So sung the old bard in the grief of 

his heart, 570. 
So, while the Goose, of whom the fable 

told, 656. 
Soft spread the southern summer night, 

571. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 210. 
Soldier, wake ! the day is peeping, 637. 
Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this 

vision sent, 654. 
Son of a witch, 643. 
Son of Honor, theme of story, 417. 
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! 

657. 
Speak not of niceness, when there 's 

chance for wreck, 673. 
Staffa, sprung from high Macdonald, 

559. 
Stern eagle of the far Northwest, 617. 
Stern was the law which bade its vota- 
ries leave, 660. 
Still in his dead hand clenched remain 

the strings, 655. 
Still though the headlong cavalier, 676. 
Strange ape of man ! who loathes thee 

while he scorns thee, 683. 
Summer eve is gone and past, 354. 
Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of 

Toro, 12. 

Take these flowers which, purple 

waving, 9. 
Take thou no scorn, 609. 
Tell me not of it, friend — when the 

young weep, 654. 



692 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



Tell me not of it — I could ne'er abide, 

681. 
That's right, friend — drive the gait- 
lings back, 633. 
The ashes here of murdered kings, 680. 
The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with 

day, 18. 
The bleakest rock upon the loneliest 

heath, 656. 
The course of human life is changeful 

still, 673. 
The deadliest snakes are those which, 

twined 'mongst flowers, 679. 
The Druid Urien had daughters seven, 

531. 
The forest of Glenmore is drear, 46. 
The hearth in hall was black and dead, 

658. 
The heath this night must be my bed, 

235. 
The herring loves the merry moon- 
light, 581. 
The hottest horse will oft be cool, 659. 
The Knight 's to the mountain, 564. 
The last of our steers on the board has 

been spread, 647. 
The Lord Abbot had a soul, 654. 
The Minstrel came once more to view, 

273. 
The monk must arise when the matins 

ring, 603. 
The moon is in her summer glow, 302. 
The moon 's on the lake and the mist 's 

on the brae, 579. 
The news has flown frae mouth to 

mouth, 629. 
The parties met. The wily, wordy 

Greek, 683. 
The Pope he was saying the high, high 

mass, 21. 
The sacred tapers' lights are gone, 

663. 
The sages — for authority, pray, look, 

635. 
The sound of Rokeby's words I hear, 

361. 
The storm increases — 't is no sunny 

shower, 682. 
The sun is rising dimly red, 619. 
The sun upon the lake is low, 648. 
The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 591. 
The tears I shed must ever fall, 678. 
The violet in her greenwood bower, 9. 



The way is long, my children, long and 

rough — 684. 
The way was long, the wind was cold, 

48. 
The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, 5. 
The wisest sovereigns err like private 

men, 666. 
There are times, 680. 
There came three merry men from 

south, west, and north, 609. 
There is a mood of mind we all have 

known, 506. 
There is mist on the mountain, and 

night on the vale, 566. 
There must be government in all so- 
ciety — 675. 
There's something in that ancient 

superstition, 661. 
These be the adept's doctrines — every 

element, 681. 
These were wild times — the antipodes 

of ours, 683. 
They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, 

247. 
Things needful we have thought on ; 

but the thing, 669. 
This is a gentle trader and a prudent, 

667. 
This is a lecturer so skilled in policy, 

674. 
This is a love meeting ? See the maid- 
en mourns, 672. 
This is he Who rides on the court- 
gale, 665. 
This is rare news thou tell'st me, my 

good fellow, 665. 
This is some creature of the elements, 

673. 
This is the day when the fairy kind, 613. 
This is the Prince of Leeches ; fever, 

plague, 677. 
This is the very barn-yard, 670. 
This, sir, is one among the Seigniory, 

668. 
This superb successor, 682. 
This wandering race, severed from 

other men, 659. 
This was the entry, then these stairs 

— but whither after ? 659. 
This way lie safety and a sure retreat, 

671. 
Those evening clouds, that setting 

ray, 653. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



693 



Thou hast each secret of the house- 
hold, Francis, 663. 
Thou who seek'st my fountain lone, 

616. 
Though right be aft put down by 

strength, 568. 
Thrice to the holly brake, 612. 
Through the vain webs, which puzzle 

sophists' skill, 682. 
Thy time is not yet out — the devil thou 

servest, 675. 
'T is a weary life this — 664. 
'Tis not alone the scene — the man, 

Anselmo, 667. 
'T is not her sense — for sure, in that, 

677. 
'T is strange that in the dark sulphure- 
ous mine, 683. 
'T is sweet to hear expiring Summer's 

sigh, 553. 
'Tis the black ban-dog of our jail — 

pray look on him, 673. 
'T is when the wound is stiffening with 

the cold, 662. 
Toll, toll the bell ! 682. 
To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies, 

10. 
To man in this his trial state, 657. 
To the Lords of Convention 't was 

Claver'se who spoke, 649. 
To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale, 

648. 
Too much rest is rust, 677. 
Traquair has ridden up Chapel-hope, 38. 
True-love, an thou be true, 658. 
True Thomas sat on Huntlie bank, 40. 
Trust me, each state must have its 

policies, 660. 
'Twas a Marechal of France, and he 

fain would honor gain, 557. 
'T was All-souls' eve, and Surrey's heart 

beat high, 95. 
'T was near the fair city of Bene vent, 

640. 
'T was time and griefs, 656. 
'T was when among our linden-trees, 

596. 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 576. 

Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they 

cluster, 681. 
Up rose the sun o'er moor and mead, 

645. 



Vain man, thou mayst esteem thy love 

as fair, 682. 
Viewless Essence, thin and bare, 645. 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 551. 
"Want you a man, 681. 
Wasted, weary, wherefore stay, 576. 
We are bound to drive the bullocks, 

568. 
We are not worse at once — the course 

of evil, 672. 
We do that in our zeal, 679. 
We know not when we sleep nor when 

we wake, 681. 
We '11 keep our customs — what is law 

itself, 667. 
We love the shrill trumpet, we love 

the drum's rattle, 649. 
We meet, as men see phantoms in a 

dream, 673. 
Welcome, grave stranger, to our green 

retreats, 553. 
Well, then, our course is chosen ; spread 

the sail — 665. 
Well, well, at worst, 't is neither theft 

nor coinage, 655. 
Were ever such two loving friends ! 

679. 
Were every hair upon his head a life, 

677. 
What brave chief shall head the forces, 

640. 
What ! dazzled by a flash of Cupid's 

mirror, 670. 
What ho, my jovial mates! come on ! 

we '11 frolic it, 668. 
What makes the troopers' frozen cour- 
age muster, 12 . 
What, man, ne'er lack a draught when 

the full can, 666. 
What sheeted ghost is wandering 

through the storm, 676. 
Wheel the wild dance, 573. 
When autumn nights were long and 

drear, 659. 
When beauty leads the lion in her toils, 

678. 
When friends are met o'er merry cheer, 

651. 
When fruitful Clydesdale's apple bow- 
ers, 27. 
When Israel of the Lord beloved, 608. 
When princely Hamilton's abode, 32. 



694 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



When Princes meet, astrologers may 

mark it, 675. 
When the gledd 's in the blue cloud, 

595. 
When the heathen trumpet's clang, 592. 
When the last Laird of Ravenswood to 

Ravenswood shall ride, 604. 
When the lone pilgrim views afar, 589. 
When the tempest 's at the loudest, 649. 
When we two meet, we meet like rush- 
ing torrents, 681. 
Whence the brooch of burning gold, 

434. 
Where is he ? Has the deep earth 

swallowed him ? 684. 
Where shall the lover rest, 136. 
Wherefore come ye not to court, 669. 
Whet the bright steel, 607. 
While the dawn on the mountain was 

misty and gray, 360. 
Who is he ? One that for the lack of 

land, 654. 
Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the 

forelock, 659. 
Why sit' st thou by that ruined hall, 

581. 
Why, then, we will have bellowing of 

beeves, 672. 
' Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? ' 

578. 



Widowed wife and wedded maid, 639. 
Without a ruin, broken, tangled, 

cumbrous, 683. 
1 Woe to the vanquished ! ' was stern 

Brenno's word, 657. 



Woman's 
638. 



faith, and woman's trust, 



Yes ? I love Justice well — as well as 

you do — 655. 
Yes, it is she whose eyes looked on thy 

childhood, 664. 
Yes, life hath left him — every busy 

thought, 662. 
Yes, thou mayst sigh, 645. 
Yon path of greensward, 679. 
You call it an ill angel — it may be so, 

662. 
You call this education, do you not, 

661. 
You shall have no worse person than 

my chamber, 672. 
You talk of gayety and innocence, 677. 
Young men will love thee more fair 

and more fast, 566. 
Your suppliant, by name, 628. 
Youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst 

thou call me ? 612. 
Youth ! thou wear'st to manhood now, 

664. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



[The titles of major works and of general divisions are set in small capitals.] 



Abbot, The, mottoes from, 663. 

1 Admire not that I gained,' 649. 

Albert Graeme's Song, 94. 

Alexandre, M., the celebrated Ventri- 
loquist, Lines addressed to, 636. 

Alice Brand, 243. 

AUen-a-Dale, 338. 

Ancient Gaelic Melody, 604. 

'And did ye not hear of a mirth be- 
fell,' 563. 

Anne of Geierstein, verses from, 645 ; 
mottoes from, 680. 

Answer to Introductory Epistle, 609. 

Antiquary, The, verses from, 581 ; 
mottoes from, 653. 

Appeal, The, Epilogue to, 593. 

'As lords their laborers' hire delay,' 
636. 

Avenel, Mary, To, 615. 

Ballads : — 

Alice Brand, 243. 
4 And whither would you lead me 

then,' 363. 
Castle of the Seven Shields, The, 
531. 
Ballads from the German op Burger, 

Two, 1. 
Bannatyne Club, The, 632. 
Bard's Incantation, The, 46. 
Barefooted Friar, The, 606. 
Battle of Beal' an Duine, 273. 
Battle of Sempach, The, 596. 
Betrothed, The, songs from, 637 ; 

mottoes from, 676. 
Black Dwarf, The, mottoes from, 656. 
Black Knight and Wamba, The, 608, 

609. 
Bloody Vest, The, 640. 
Boat Song, 218. 
Bold Dragoon, The, 557. 
Bonny Dundee, 649. 



Border Song, 610. 

Bothwell Castle, 27. 

Bridal of Trlermain, The, 384. 

Bride of Lammermoor, The, songs 

from, 603 ; mottoes from, 658. 
Brooch of Lorn, The, 434. 
Bryce Snailsfoot's Advertisement, 627. 
Buccleuch, Duke of, To his Grace the, 

560. 
' But follow, follow me,' 568. 
'By pathless march, by greenwood 

tree,' 642. 

Cadyow Castle, 32. 

' Canny moment, lucky fit,' 576. 

Castle Dangerous, mottoes from, 684. 

Castle of the Seven Shields, The, 531. 

Catch of Cowley's Altered, A, 635. 

Cavalier, The, 360. 

Cheviot, 30. 

Christie's Will, 38. 

Chronicles of the Canon-Gate, verses 

from, 644; mottoes from, 679. 
Cleveland's Songs, 623. 
Coronach, 232. 
Count Robert of Paris, mottoes from, 

682. 
County Guy, 633. 
Crusader's Return, The, 605. 
Cypress Wreath, The, 357. 

Dance of Death, The, 571. 
' Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still,' 639. 
' Dark shall be light,' 577. 
Dead, Hymn for the, 100. 
Death Chant, 645. 
I Death of Keeldar, The, 645. 
De Wilton's History, 183. 
Donald Caird 's Come Again, 594. 
Doom of Devorgoil, The, songs from, 

648. 
Dying Bard, The, 546. 



696 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Early Ballads and Lyeics, 9. 


Harold Harfager's Song, 619. 


Edward the Black Prince, To the Mem- 


Harold the Dauntless, 506. 


ory of, 591. 


Harold's Song, 97. 


Epilogue ('The sages — for authority, 


Harp, The, 359. 


pray, look '), 635. 


' He came, but valor had so fired his 


Epilogue to The Appeal, 593. 


eye,' 581. 


Epilogue to the Drama founded on 


Health to Lord Melville, 549. 


' Saint Ronan's Well,' 633. 


Heart of Midlothian, The, songs from, 


Epitaph designed for a monument in 


595 ; mottoes from, 657. 


Lichfield Cathedral, 552. 


Hellvellyn, 47. 


Epitaph (' Heir lyeth John 0' ye Gir- 


1 Hie away, hie away,' 565. 


nell'), 581. 


Hither we come, 651. 


Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine, 603. 


Host's Tale, The, 138. 


Erl-King, The, 9. 


Hour with Thee, An, 643. 


Eve of Saint John, The, 18. 


4 House of Aspen, The,' songs from, 11. 




Hunting Song, 551. 


Fair Maid of Perth, The, verses from, 


Hymns : — 


644 ; mottoes from, 680. 


Funeral, 609. 


' Family Legend, The,' Prologue to, 


for the Dead, 100. 


553. 


Rebecca's, 608. 


Farewell, The, 361. 


to the Virgin, 237. 


Farewell to Mackenzie, 569. 




Farewell to the Muse, 628. 


' I asked of my harp,' 638. 


Feeld op Waterloo, The, 496. 


Imitation (of the Farewell to Macken- 


Fire-King, The, 23. 


zie), 570. 


Fisherman's Song, The, 623. 


Imprisoned Huntsman, Lay of the, 


Fitztraver's Song, 95. 


278. 


Flora Maclvor's Song, 566. 


Inscription for the Monument of the 


For a' That an' a' That, 568. 


Rev. George Scott, 648. 


Foray, The, 647. 


Invocation ('From thy Pomeranian 


Fortune, Lines on, 651. 


throne'), 519. 


Fortunes of Nigel, The, lines from, 


' It 's up Glembarchan's braes I gaed,' 


628; mottoes from, 668. 


564. 


Frederick and Alice, 31. 


Ivanhoe, verses from, 605; mottoes 


From the French, 575. 


from, 659. 


From Virgil, 651. 




Funeral Hymn, 609. 


Jock of Hazeldean, 578. 




Juvenile Lines, 653. 


Glee for King Charles, 643. 




Glencoe, On the Massacre of, 557. 


Kenilworth, song from, 616; mot- 


Glendinning, Edward, To, 616. 


toes from, 665. 


Glenfinlas, 13. 


Kemble's, Mr., Farewell Address, 590. 


Goetz von Berlichingen, Song from, 11. 




Goldthred's Song, 616. 


Lady op the Lake, The, 199. 


Gray Brother, The, 21. 


Lady, To a, 9. 


Guy Mannering, songs from, 576. 


Lament, 277. 




' Late, when the autumn evening fell,' 


Halbert, To (The White Maid of Ave- 


564. 


nel), 612, 613, 615. 


Lay of Poor Louise, The, 644. 


Halbert's Incantation, 612. 


Lay of the Imprisoned Huntsman, 278. 


Halcro and Noma, 621. 


Lay op the Last Minstrel, The, 48. 


Halcro's Song, 618. 


Legend of Montrose, The, songs from, 


Halcro' s Verses, 624. 


604 ; mottoes from, 659. 






INDEX OF TITLES 



697 



Letters in verse, 560. 

Lines : addressed to M. Alexandre, the 
celebrated ventriloquist, 636 ; ad- 
dressed to Ranald Macdonald. Esq., 
of Staff a, 559 ; on Fortune, 651 ; to 
Sir Cuthbert Sharp, 643 ; written for 
Miss Smith. 5S9. 

Lochinvar, 165. 

Lockhart, Esq.. J. G., To, 636. 

1 Look not thou on beauty's charm- 
ing, " 603. 

LOED OF THE ISLES, THE, 421. 

Lord Ronald's Coronach, 13. 
Lullaby of an Infant Chief, 577. 
Lyulph's Tale. 389. 

Macdonald, Ranald, Esq.. of Starra. 

Lines addressed to, 559. 
MacGregor's Gathering. 579. 
Mackrimmon's Lament, 593. 
Madge Wildfire's Songs, 595. 
Maid of Isla, The, 627. 
Maid of Neidpath, The, 548. 
Maid of Toro, The, 547. 
MARMION, 101. 

Massacre at Glencoe, On the. 557. 
Melville. Lord. Health to, 549. 
Mermaids and Mermen's Song. 619. 
Miscellaneous Poems, 546. 
Monastery, The. verses from. 609 ; 

mottoes from. 660. 
Monks of Bangor's March, The, 591. 
Moon. Song to the, 315. 
Mottoes from the Novels. 6-53 
Mortham's History. 346. 

Nigel's Initiation at Whitefriars, 628. 

Noble Moringer, The. 599. 

Nora's Vow. 579. 

Noma's Incantations, 625. The same. 

at the meeting with Minna, 625. 
Noma's Verses. 620. 
Norman Horse-Shoe, The, 546. 
• Norman Saw on English Oak.' 606. 

Oak Tree. To an. 567. 

Old Mortality, mottoes from, 656. 

On a Thunder-Storm, 653. 

On Ettrick Forest's Mountains Dun. 

627. 
On the Massacre of Glencoe, 557. 
On the Setting Sun, 653. 
Orphan Maid, The, 604. 



Peak, mottoes from. 



mot- 



Palmer, The, 541 
Peveril of the 

672. 
Pibroch of Donald Dim. 578. 
Pirate, The, verses from, 617 ; 

toes from. 667. 
Poacher, The, 553. 
Postscriptum. 562. 
Prologue to Miss Baillie's Play of 

Family Legend," 553. 



The 



Quentin Durward, mottoes from. 674. 
Quest of Sultaun Solimaun. The. 582. 

Rebecca's Hymn, 608. 

Redgauntlet, verses from. 635. 

Reiver's Wedding. The, 36. 

Resolve, The, 552. 

Return to Ulster. The. 577. 

Rhein-Wein Lied. 12. 

Rob Roy, song from, 591 ; mottoes 

from, 657. 
Rokeey, 302, 
Romance of Dunois. 574. 

Saint Cloud. 571. 

Saint Ronan's Well, mottoes from, 675. 

St. Swithin's Chair. 565. 

Scott, Rev. George, Inscription for the 

Monument of, 648. 
Search after Happiness, The, 582. 
Secret Tribunal, The, 647. 
Setting Sun. On the, 653. 
Sharp. Sir Cuthbert. Lines to. 643. 
Shepherd's Tale. The, 27. 
Sir David Lindesay's Tale. 151. 
Smith. Miss, Lines written for, 589. 

• Soldier, wake ! ' 637. 
Soldier's Song, 269. 

• Son of a Witch, ; 643. 
Songs : — 

1 Admire not that I gained,' 649. 

Albert Graeme's, 94. 

Allen-a-Dale, 338. 

Ancient Gaelic Melody, 604. 

1 And did ye not hear of a mirth 

befell,' 563. 
Boat Song, 218. 
Bonny Dundee, 649. 
Border Song, 610. 
Brooch of Lorn, The, 434. 
1 But follow, follow me,' 568. 
1 Canny moment, lucky fit,' 576. 



698 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Cavalier, The, 360. 


'0, say not, my love, with that 


Cleveland's, 623. 


mortified air,' 551. 


Cypress Wreath, The, 357. 


On the Lifting of the Banner of 


'Dark shall be light,' 577. 


the House of Buccleuch, 575. 


1 Donald Caird 's Come Again,' 594. 


Orphan Maid, The, 604. 


Farewell, The, 361. 


' Quake to your foundation deep,' 


Farewell to Mackenzie, 569. 


418. 


Fisherman's, The, 623. 


' Rash adventurer, bear thee back,' 


Fitztraver's, 95. 


413. 


Flora Maclvor's, 566. 


St. Swithin's Chair, 565. 


For a' That an' a' That, 568. 


'See the treasure Merlin piled,' 


For the Anniversary of the Pitt 


415. 


Club of Scotland, 558. 


'She may be fair,' he sang, 'but 


Glee of King Charles, 643. 


yet,' 525. 


Glee-Maiden's, 645. 


'Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,' 


Goetz von Berlichingen, from, 11. 


210. 


'God protect brave Alexander,' 


' Soldier, wake ! ' 637. 


580. 


Soldier's, 269. 


Goldthred's, 616. 


' Son of Honor, theme of story,' 


' Hawk and osprey screamed for 


417. 


joy,' 522. 


' Summer eve is gone and past,' 


Halcro's, 618. 


354. 


Harold Harfager's, 619. 


Sun upon the Lake, The, 648. 


Harold's, 97. 


Tempest, of the, 617. 


Harp, The, 359. 


' The heath this night must be my 


1 Highland Widow, The,' from, 644. 


bed,' 235. 


House of Aspen, from the, 11. 


' The Knight 's to the mountain, 1 


' Hie away, hie away,' 565. 


564. 


Hunting Song, 551. 


'The monk must arise when the 


' I asked of my harp,' 638. 


matins ring,' 603. 


'Ill fares the bark with tackle 


' They bid me sleep, they bid me 


riven,' 524. 


pray,' 247. 


4 It 's up Glembarchan's braes I 


'Twist ye, twine ye! even so,' 


gaed,' 564. 


576. 


Lochinvar, Lady Heron's Song, 


War-Song, 607. 


165. 


War-Song of Lachlan, 570. 


' Look not thou on beauty's charm- 


War-Song of the Royal Edinburgh 


ing,' 603. 


Light Dragoons, 10. 


' Lord William was born in gilded 


'Wasted, weary, wherefore stay,' 


bower,' 515. 


576. 


Lullaby of an Infant Chief, 577. 


' We love the shrill trumpet,' 649. 


Madge Wildfire's, 595. 


' Wheel the wild dance,' 573. 


Maid of Isla, The, 627. 


' When friends are met,' 651. 


Mermaids and Mermen, of the, 619. 


' When the last Laird of Ravens- 


Monks of Bangor's March, The, 


wood to Ravenswood shall ride,' 


592. 


604. 


' Not faster yonder rower's might,' 


' When the tempest,' 649. 


212. 


' Where shall the lover rest,' 136. 


Moon, To the, 315. 


White Lady of Avenel, of the 


' 0, Brignall banks are wild and 


(Fording the river), 610. 


fair,' 333. 


' Widowed wife and wedded maid,' 


' for the voice of that wild horn,' 


639. 


591. 


Woman's faith, 638. 






INDEX OF TITLES 



699 



' Young men will love thee more 
fair and more fast ! ' 566. 
Sun upon the Lake, The, 648. 
Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, The, 591. 

Talisman, The, verses from, 639 ; mot- 
toes from, 677. 

Tempest, Song of the, 617. 

1 The herring loves the merry moon- 
light,' 581. 

' The Knight 's to the mountain,' 564. 

1 The monk must arise when the matins 
ring,' 603. 

Thomas the Rhymer, 40. 

4 Thou, so needful, yet so dread,' 625. 

Thunder-Storm, On a, 653. 

To a Lady, 9. 

To an Oak Tree, 567. 

To Edward Glendinning, 616. 

To Halbert (The White Maid of Ave- 
nel), 612. 

To his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch, 
560. 

To J. G. Lockhart, Esq., 636. 

To Mary Avenel, 615. 

To the Memory of Edward the Black 
Prince, 591. 

To the Sub-Prior, 611. 

Troubadour, The, 574. 

4 Twist ye, twine ye ! even so,' 576. 

Verses sung at the dinner to the Grand- 
duke Nicholas, 580. 
Violet, The, 9. 



Virgil, From, 653. 

Virgin, Hymn to the, 237. 

Vision of Don Roderick, The, 283. 

Wandering Willie, 548. 

War-Song, 607. 

War-Song of Lachlan, 570. 

War -Song of the Royal Edinburgh 

Light Dragoons, 10. 
4 Wasted, weary, wherefore stay,' 576. 
Waverley, songs and verses from, 563. 
4 We are bound to drive the bullocks,' 

568. 
4 We love the shrill trumpet,' 649. 
'What brave chief shall head the 

forces,' 640. 
4 When friends are met,' 651. 
4 When the last Laird of Ravenswood 

to Ravenswood shall ride,' 604. 
' When the tempest,' 649. 
White Lady's Farewell, The, 616. 
White Lady of Avenel, Songs of the, 

610. 
4 Why sit'st thou by that ruined hall,' 

581. 
'Widowed wife and wedded maid,' 

639. 
Wild Huntsman, The, 5. 
William and Helen, 1. 
Woman's Faith, 638. 
4 Woodstock,' verses from, 642; mot- 
toes from, 678. 
4 Young men will love thee more fair 

and more fast,' 566. 



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